Dead On Arrival
by The-Xenocide
Summary: Chapter Summary: "But Haku didn't care how Zabuza might have viewed her in that very instant. She was, for the time being, a teenage girl. And damned if her hormoned and girly tendencies were going to act accordingly."
1. Now Serving 30,000,000,012

**Dead on Arrival**

**A Xenocide production**

**AN: Why am I doing this again? All of my works have failed so far, and I have only a handful of reviews total. I'm hoping that this new Naruto fic will at least get me a few flames…**

**Summary: Death has not been kind to one Mamochi Zabuza. He was destined for Hell before he even set one foot on that Bridge. But, he only has to do one little thing and all is forgiven: Kill the Kyuubi no Kitsune. Simple, right? **

**Enjoy and review, for the love of God!**

**Disclaimer: Why do you people insist on making me write these things? Unless you want my share of the perpetually empty bank account, please don't sue! I own nothing, depressingly enough...**

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**Chapter One: Now Serving # 30,000,000,012**

The Underworld is not a happy place.

Well, that's a bit of an understatement, now isn't it?

After all, no one enjoys being dead, much less being jammed together with others who are just as living-impaired as themselves.

Fortunately, the Underworld is also only a temporary residence. Think of it as sort of a permanent waiting lounge--with crappy cable, magazines three months out of date, and ridiculously long waiting lines.

There is always an influx of new arrivals, whether it be from old age, disease, famine, or any other conceivable reason. The shinigami are constantly at work, processing new arrivals, assessing their past lives, assigning their permanent place of resting, and filing successful placements in their infinitely large filing warehouses. Being gods of death, they are able to work tirelessly for long periods of time, give or take a couple of decades.

A new arrival has to wait for at least a minimum of three years before they can meet with their appointed shinigami. If there has been a recent war or famine, that time can be doubled, or even tripled. Likewise, when there is relatively little turmoil on Earth, the three years can be cut down to a mere year or even a matter of months. In rare cases, some lucky souls can be processed after a few weeks.

Processing is basically the…well…the process of determining which plane of existence that soul is to spend eternity. While there are many different planes of the afterlife, they can all be classified into two main categories: the Valley of the Clouds or the Lake of Fire. Although these are the 'official' names that higher-ups insist on using, they are much better known to the masses as Heaven and Hell.

Two such individuals were, after a slightly over-average waiting period of three years and three months, finally next in line for their appointment.

"I've half a mind to file a complaint to somebody. Average waiting period, my ass." Mamochi Zabuza was not a happy camper. While a ninja is expected to have near infinite patience, Zabuza never truly applied himself to the concept. Being the owner of a sword named 'Headcleaver', it is safe to say that patience is not the Mist-nin's strength.

"Now, now Zabuza-san, it can hardly be helped. They perform admirably for the immense workload they are given." The boy simply known as Haku is the exact opposite of Zabuza in every way. Though he is the man's loyal servant, acting as his willing tool of death, his soul was still as pure as the spring rain. It's still a mystery, however, how in the world a guy can be so pretty as to be mistaken for a girl. Popular bishounen culture is to be blamed.

Zabuza smirked slightly behind his mask of bandages. "Heh, you're still too nice for your own good. You'd think dying might've loosened you up a bit."

"I could very well say the same for you, Zabuza-san."

A door in the corner of the lounge opened, and a small, timid looking shinigami stepped out, nervously clutching his clipboard to his chest.

"U-umm, c-could Mamochi Zabuza and Miyakawa Haku please stand up?"

Haku looked up at Zabuza from his position on a cushion on the floor. The Mist-nin shrugged and got out of his recliner. Haku followed shortly, laying his 'Bleach' manga to the side.

One good thing about the Underworld, which actually, in hindsight, is the only good thing you can say about the dreary place, is that those who are currently waiting to be processed are not lacking in comfort. Comfy chairs and cushions that can serve as beds are assigned to every new arrival, and they are rotated closer to the front of the lounge every so often. For entertainment, current volumes of popular manga are always in circulation. Is it any wonder that 'Death Note', 'Angel Sanctuary', and 'Bleach' are among the most popular titles in the Underworld?

The ninja and his loyal follower exited the lounge, and the small shinigami shut the door softly behind them.

A droning female voice announced over booming intercoms, "_Prepare for lounge rotation, prepare for lounge rotation._" Billions of groans and protests from the long, long line of the dead in the lounge met this announcement. "_Will sectors Z100 through Z25 please commence shifting to your right. Remember to please shift in an orderly fashion. Shifting of sectors Z through A will be complete in three months._" Vile epithets in every language were uttered as the long ordeal began.

Well, it may have been comfy, but no one said it was speedy, now did they?

The complaints department would certainly have their hands full this time around.

----------

Shinigami Hanatarou Takuya, Third Class, Second Rank coughed nervously at the sight of Zabuza folding his arms menacingly across his chest.

The three were sitting around a small table, on top of which laid the deceased's folders.

"Well?" Zabuza growled.

"I-I beg your pardon?" Hanatarou coughed.

"I believe he is referring to our destinations, Shinigami-san." Haku said gently, gesturing at the folders placed in front of them. "I am quite anxious to know myself.

"Oh, y-yes. Sorry about that." Clearing his throat the shy death god first reached for Haku's folder. "Miyakawa Haku, age 14 at the time of death, of Wave country. Your mother was murdered by your father at age four, and attempted to kill you as well. Before he could do so, you killed him in self-defense. At age five, one Mamochi Zabuza took you under his wing. He trained you to be his personal assassin, planning to use you against his enemies in his attempt to take control over the Hidden Village of the Mist. You died three years ago in a mission to eliminate a bridge builder for a local crime syndicate. You sacrificed yourself for Zabuza, placing yourself in the direct path of a fatal attack by an enemy ninja."

Hanatarou closed Haku's file. "Though you did send many people to their deaths, you only did so if you thought they truly deserved it. You even outright refused to eliminate the young grandson of a local merchant for your client."

"Fat lot of good his conscience did us. We had to sleep outside that night. In the rain. Without waterproof clothing." Zabuza bit out each sentence fiercely, glaring at Haku all the while. His partner just smiled widely at him.

"But he was such a nice young man, wasn't he Zabuza-san? And he was so good at drawing too! It would have been a shame to deprive the world of such talent!"

"You really love torturing me like this, don't you Haku?"

"Whatever do you mean, Zabuza-san?"

"A-ahem," Hanatarou coughed yet again, "it is rare that we see such a pure soul such as yours down here, Haku-san. Though you did lead a life of violence, you did not let your soul or your morals fall to the wayside. I can happily say that you are to be given a residence in the Elysian Fields, which is located on the third level of the Valley of the Clouds. Congratulations."

Haku beamed.

The imposing Mist-nin didn't even try to muffle his snort of annoyance. "Gee, what a surprise. And I thought for sure that you wouldn't make it in."

The shinigami's hand trembled ever so slightly as he reached for Zabuza's ominously thick folder. "M-mamochi Zabuza, age 31 at the time of death, Mist-nin of Wave country and one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Village of the Mist. The life of violence that you've led, starting at such an appallingly young age, is one of the more disturbing cases I've had to handle." The frail lad quailed under said ninja's glare. Lord Hades himself would have been hard pressed to match it. "A-at a-age 12, during your Genin examinations, you slaughtered the entire class, your closest friends included. Your downward spiral continued from there. You defected from your village and vowed to topple the current government to set up your own. And you were willing to do anything to succeed. I-I don't think I need mention the numerous and horrendous crimes that you've committed, mostly because I don't have the stomach for it and it would take up more than our allotted time."

Zabuza grunted indifferently while Haku frowned. Even though he knew of his master's violent past, he hadn't realized the full scale of it before he was apprenticed to him.

"Needless to say, this kind of file would be a no brainer for the Lake of Fire."

Zabuza nodded and deadpanned, "Didn't see that one coming either. I'm completely shocked."

Hanatarou held up a finger, struggling to look imperious and failing miserably. "H-however…"

Zabuza's eyes snapped upon and fixed themselves on the shinigami, who flinched violently at the look in Zabuza's eyes, while Haku perked up noticeably at the delay of his master's sentence.

"How can there be a 'however' in there? I'm an evil bastard, remember? You know, the whole 'butchered my classmates and ate babies for breakfast' routine?"

"That is true, but at the very end of your life, you redeemed yourself with no thoughts of salvation in your heart. You avenged your protégé's death by dispensing justice to a most evil man and his cronies, saving your soul and the lives of those who resided in the village you had pledged to destroy for one 'Gatou'."

The swordsman raised an eyebrow at this statement.

Haku clapped his hands together and exclaimed happily, "So Zabuza-san can come with me to Heaven after all!"

"W-well, not e-exactly…"

Zabuza chuckled humorlessly. "Of course, I should have known. There's always a but in the fine print." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "So…who do you want me to kill?"

Hanatarou recoiled, turning slightly green. "Zabuza-san! We wouldn't even dream--"

"Yeah, yeah, all right," Zabuza waved his hand dismissively, "no need to get all holier than thou on me. Killing is my specialty, after all."

Haku clasped his hands together once again inquiring, "Why exactly can't Zabuza-san be admitted to heaven? If you say that his one good deed cleansed him of his past sins…"

The shinigami scratched his head nervously. "You s-see, that's the thing. While it's true that he managed to save himself from the Lake of Fire, he still isn't completely cleansed."

"So, what? I've got to do a little extra soul-cleaning on the side to get in?" Zabuza chuckled at his little joke. His mirth died off at jittery look on the shinigami's face.

"……….You have _got_ to be kidding me….." Zabuza deadpanned incredulously.

Hanatarou shivered at the small amount of killing intent that was rolling off of Zabuza. "O-occasionally, a soul will have only partially redeemed itself, preventing it from entering heaven. So we shinigami assign them tasks that will enable them to completely cleanse themselves."

"What kind of tasks, exactly?" Haku asked.

"It depends on the nature of the soul's transgressions and the amount of good karma it would take to redeem it."

"You mean, like helping little old ladies across the street?" Zabuza growled.

Hanatarou nodded in the affirmative. "Things of that nature, yes."

"What task will you be assigning to us?"

The Mist-nin glanced askance at Haku. "We?"

"Yes," the boy intoned firmly, "we."

Zabuza stared at the boy for a few moments before he shrugged nonchalantly. "Whatever. Not my problem."

"T-that is highly irregular!" The shinigami protested. "I can't let you--" He was cut off mercilessly by a glare from Haku. Pretty boys are famously known for their death glares. Some even have the ability to incinerate a person where they stand. Haku, on the other hand, had the lesser known ability of freezing the recipient of the glare down to their very toes. What little vestiges of courage that Hanatarou had jumped ship and fled like the rat bastards they were.

"N-never mind!" He squeaked pitifully. "The more the merrier!"

The boy-nin looked like the cat that had eaten the canary _and_ had his cream too. "Now, Shinigami-san, I believe you were about to assign us our task?" Haku said, honey practically dripping from his tongue.

"Ahem..well…" Hanatarou took a moment to compose himself. Being optically bitch slapped can do that to a guy. Zabuza knew this all too well. "Your assignment will be a little out of the ordinary. The nature of Zabuza's crimes warrant an extraordinary act of good karma to cleanse the remainder of his soul."

Zabuza snorted in disgust. "Figures."

"….It has come to our attention that a certain organization in your homeland is trying to harness the power of the Bijuu. Their purpose is unclear at the moment, but it most certainly cannot be good. We are also unsure as to how many demons that they are currently in possession of. We know of two for sure."

The partially damned ninja drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "You guys don't seem to know a lot of things. I don't suppose you have any idea of the name of this so-called 'demon hunting' organization?"

"A-akatsuki."

Zabuza bolted upright in his chair, slamming both of his palms on the tabletop while Haku tensed visibly, clenching his hands into fists in his lap. "Akatsuki!?! Are you fucking insane!? There's no way in hell I, much less both of us, could stand a chance against those bastards! Those are S-Class nin! Only someone close to Kage level would be able to survive an encounter with them."

Zabuza folded his arms across his chest once again and glowered at the cowering mass of liquefied death god across from him. "I refuse to be an errand boy for you people. Hell can't be that bad."

Haku laid a placating hand on his shoulder.

"There is no need to be so hasty, Zabuza-san. Perhaps we should hear Shinigami-san out?"

The partially damned, now extremely pissed off ninja only grunted sourly in reply.

Hanatarou took that as a tentative sign to continue. He took a deep breath steeling his nerves.

"Your fears are certainly justified, and we agree. It would take several fairly highly ranked shinigami to take down just one of these people. That is why we have decided that a direct confrontation is not in our best interests."

"You got that right." Zabuza muttered out of the side of his mouth.

"Lord Hades himself has decided that it would easier and much more effective if you were to…e-eliminate one of the Tailed Demons themselves."

Instead of exploding in anger, much like Hanatarou had feared he would, Zabuza just hung his head and sighed sadly. "And how is that any better, exactly?"

"If anything," Haku commented gravely, "wouldn't a demon be much stronger than a mortal?"

The shinigami nodded. "Yes, that is usually true. However-"

"There seems to be a crapload of 'however's and 'buts' today." Zabuza complained petulantly.

"-we have come across an unusual situation. It seems that a little over fifteen years ago, a high-level ninja, most likely of Kage status, sealed a demon into the body of an infant. As a matter of fact, it was a shinigami who was summoned to separate the demon's soul from it's body."

"Any idea who the child was?"

The shinigami shook his head. "No idea, unfortunately. The only thing that we do know is that the container was a citizen of the Hidden Village of the Leaf, in Fire Country."

Zabuza whistled softly. "That's not good. In a place as large as Fire Country, it could take us years to find the kid. And that's assuming his dear old village hasn't kicked him out on his demonic ass."

Haku narrowed his eyes slightly. He was growing increasingly uneasy with the path that this conversation was taking. "And what would you have us do with the boy? I assume you would want us to take him into protective custody?"

The elder Mist-nin just closed his eyes, already knowing the answer to Haku's question. The boy really was too damn soft and naïve for his own good.

"N-no….Lord Hades has determined that the container be exterminated, and his body burnt to ashes." Hanatarou lowered his eyes to the table in front of him, unwilling to meet the stare of the boy across from him. "The nature of the seal on the boy permanently intertwines the chakra and life-force of both the demon and the boy. Their personalities have most likely also merged, with the psyche of the demon bleeding into the container. The death of one will result in the death of the other."

"If Akatsuki can't get ahold of _all_ the demons, then all of their plans fall to pieces." Zabuza murmured.

"Yes."

Haku was silent, his eyes sad and his lips set in a grim line.

Zabuza sighed. "In all likelihood, Haku, the boy is nothing more than a shell, most likely consumed by the demon's instincts and desires. You remember hearing about that Gaara of the Desert guy, right?"

Haku nodded. "The Sand's container? He was supposedly their ultimate weapon, right Zabuza-san?"

"Mmm-hmm. He was nothing more than a cold-blooded killer. From what I heard, and what little I saw, the kid would kill someone just for looking at him funny. The Sand, last time I was around there, were hiring assassins left and right to get rid of the brat." He snorted contemptuously. "Hell, they even tried to recruit me, but I'm no fool. Containers are _not_ mere humans that can be turned from their path. While it may look, smell, and even act somewhat human, a demon is still a demon, even it is housed in a human."

After a long moment of tense silence, Haku spoke reluctantly, "As you say, Zabuza-san. If it means being by your side in Heaven, then it is as you say."

Hanatarou let out a quiet breath of relief. He had managed to contract two of the most fearsome ninja, both dead and alive, to assassinate the most fearsome demon in the history of existence.

He would pat himself on the back later.

But now, he had to cinch the deal and get them on their way before their minds changed.

He pulled another folder, one quite thick, from out of a small briefcase on the floor and laid it on the top of the table in front of the two.

"While we may not know the actual identity of the container, we do know the identity of the demon housed in him."

Haku opened the folder and staring straight back at them was a muzzle in a rictus of a smile, fangs bared for all the world to see and two amber eyes swimming with cruelty and malice, framed in blood hued fur.

"Kyuubi no Kitsune, the Nine Tails Fox, the most fearsome and powerful of the Bijuu that walk the earth." Hanatarou was not overly optimistic on his chances of getting through the next conversation unscathed.

Zabuza managed to sum up both his and Haku's sentiments in one, conveniently packaged word.

"Oh, _shit!_"

**Yeah well, there it is. Even if you utterly despised this story, at least let me know. Reviews, whether they are positive or not, are the lifebread of struggling authors such as myself. Wah...feel sad me for me!**

**Anyway, I hope that I can continue on my roll here. This story has some pretty interesting plotlines that I'm toying with. Don't know how far I'll go, but we'lll see, won't we?**


	2. The Undead Shuffle

**Dead on Arrival**

**A Xenocide production**

**AN: Ack! This fic seems to have stirred quite a deal of interest, if my Story Hit Counter is working correctly. I'm also quite happy with my first few reviews, as they had nothing but nice things to say. O Happy Day! **

**Summary: Death has not been kind to one Mamochi Zabuza. He was destined for Hell before he even set one foot on that Bridge. But, he only has to do one little thing and all is forgiven: Kill the Kyuubi no Kitsune. Simple, right? **

**Enjoy and review…..please?**

**Disclaimer: I may not own Naruto, but Kishimoto-sensei is an entirely different matter…..it's amazing what you can find on eBay nowadays.**

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**Chapter Two: The Undead Shuffle**

When Tsuyoshi Tamai applied to be a shinigami instead of a seraphim in the Valley of Clouds, he had been enamored with the more well known public figures of the powerful shinigami who kept peace and order in the Underworld.

He fell in love with the idea that he as well could become one of the Elite 20, the top ranked fighters in all of Heaven and most of Hell.

He could certainly see himself return victoriously from the battlefield, waving his sword aloft over his head and sweeping the many, many, beautiful women off of their feet with his tales of epic battles with the Lords of Hell. Money would flow like a wellspring from his purse and everyone would kill to be seen with him. Even Lord Hades himself would invite him over for a chat and tea.

Yes, it was with high hopes that he, along with many other males and females his own age, entered Chiron Academy, filled with dreams of glory and women.

But then, that certain entity know as Reality took great pleasure on taking Tsuyoshi's dream and smattering it into tiny, wailing, pitiful little bits.

Over the course of his years at the Academy, Tsuyoshi demonstrated hardly any aptitude as a shinigami, which depressed him to no end and made him easy pickings for the older and stronger shinigami. Come to think of it, even the shinigami in his own year treated him as something to be wiped off of the bottom of their sandals.

As it was he barely, as in was only two percent above a failing grade, graduated from the Academy. He was denied a place in the ranks of the army, where one could fight their way up the ranks and eventually to the elite. There was only one place that the shinigami could find work for him.

Lo and behold! The Grand Hall of the Books of Life and Death!

The job sounded rather important. After all, it was hard to find people of quality that could be trusted to document and preserve all of the Underworld's and its inhabitants in written form.

Or at least, that's what he was told. What they didn't mention, is that other more important people would be actually be taking care of the archives themselves, while he would be stuck filling out the tedious but necessary paperwork that made the entire Underworld tick. The office he was given was nothing more than a dusty janitor's office which was cluttered with teeming piles of paperwork.

Needless to say, he found his new job to be a little less than what he wanted or expected.

But, being the fine upstanding shinigami he was, he threw himself into the whole mess with a passion. As with most cases of burning zeal and passion, it didn't last very long.

Within a few millennia, Tamai was starting to get fed up with it all.

He had no assistants, for no one in their right minds would want to work in a musty, windowless cell of an office with a shinigami reject.

Vacation consisted of a one day break two years ago that was cut short by four hours.

Janitors were constantly barging in, knocking over his meticulously sorted piles of paperwork and generally having fun at the poor bookkeeper's expense. Apparently, even janitors were above rejects.

The thing that really bothered him was the fact that nobody appreciated what he did at all.

The only reason that the Underworld had been running as smoothly as it had for the last decade was because of Tsuyoshi's incredible organizing techniques. Without them, he would have become hopelessly bogged down in the mountains of paperwork that threatened the swamp over him each day. No one offered a word of thanks nor of encouragement. As a matter of fact, Tsuyoshi was quite sure that most shinigami had no idea that he even existed.

(Which, sadly, was true. Most of the younger shinigami were under the impression that there was an entire legion of lesser spirits that acted as scribes and archivists. The older ones simply tried to ignore him. It was an affront to their image to have a shinigami, even if he was a reject, reduced to nothing more than a bookkeeper.)

Our poor little shinigami was on the verge of the breaking point. All it would take was the literal straw on the camel's back to break him.

Suddenly, the door to his "office' banged inwards, admitting the most evil bastard to grace his presence upon the Underworld. Morio Asaka.

Morio Asaka, First Rank, Second Class, was feeling mighty fine indeed.

The best part of his day had arrived: that of torturing that little bitch, Tamai. There was nothing like a good dose of bullying to cheer him up after a particularly tough mission.

The gust of wind created by the sudden opening of the door threatened to blow over a stack of papers on the Bookkeepers desk. Tamai frantically threw himself on the pile in order to keep it from toppling over.

"Hey there, Tamai-kun! Still hard at work I see!" Morio strode inside the cramped "office" unheeding of the piles of paperwork that he knocked over.

Tamai heaved a sigh of relief as he managed to steady the tower of paperwork on the corner of his desk. He turned towards the new arrival and had to restrain himself from weeping in frustration at the scattered files and folders all across the floor. An entire two days of work, gone in an instant.

He gritted his teeth and managed to choke out, "Good afternoon, Asaka-senpai. How can I help you?"

The evil bastard grinned merrily. "Oh, nothing in particular!" He sang out. "I just happened to be in the neighborhood!"

Tamai raised an eyebrow. "So you 'just happened' to be in the deepest, darkest hellhole in Shinigami Headquarters for no good reason?" He curled his lips. "How very……_nice_…..of you, senpai."

If Morio heard any of the venom in Tamai's voice, he didn't show it. Nothing could dim that empty, megawatt smile on his face.

"It is, isn't it?" He flashed another grin at his inferior. "I believe that it is an officer's duty to tend to his fellow soldiers and the less fortunate. That's why I take extra time out of my extremely busy schedule to visit you, Tamai-kun!"

The pen in Tsuyoshi's hand snapped violently. Oh, how he wished that had been that lack wit's neck! But that sort of thing was frowned upon. After all, murdering a colleague was very bad form nowadays.

"You are too kind, senpai." He growled through gritted teeth.

"I know!" Asaka exclaimed giddily.

_Crack!_

There went another pen. It's a good thing that a bookkeeper has a near endless supply of pens and pencils. They're dead useful _and _a good stress reliever!

Tamai calmly wiped a small bit of ink off of his cheek, where it left a small streak underneath his eye. Blood would have been so much easier to wash out.

Taking a deep calming breath, while imagining tortures beyond human comprehension upon the idiot in front of him, he said, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, senpai?"

Morio airily waved a hand in dismissal. "Oh, nothing important. The higher ups merely wanted me to deliver this order for new bodies in person. Haven't seen an order like this one in quite a while."

Tamai was intrigued in spite of himself.

For the most part, orders concerning the creation of new bodies for souls returning to earth for a short period of time were merely delivered to his inbox. They didn't have high priority on his list of 'to do' things so one was lucky if the order was filled out in a month or so.

Despite the Underworld's reputation for efficiency, they also had a reputation of being far too slow for comfort.

Only in extremely rare cases, where his superiors wanted him to fill out orders of dire urgency did they have someone deliver it in person. The last time he was given an order in person was about two thousand years ago, for this fella that had been dead for three days. God had wanted him alive post haste and as of yesterday.

That had helped him set a record for body making that any other bookkeeper had yet to break.

When you get an order from the supreme being of the universe, it drastically improves your work ethic.

Tsuyoshi held out his hand. "Thank you very much, Asaka-senpai. I will get to work right away."

Morio frowned slightly, a bit put out. Usually, the sniveling little whelp was more entertainment than this. He would have tried to provoke Tamai in hopes of getting a good show, but he knew better than to interfere with an order from Lord Hades himself.

"Hmmph. Very well then." He tossed the folder at the shinigami, who made a mad scramble to catch it and prevent the scattering of its contents. "I expect to see this order filled out as soon as possible."

Tamai made no effort to hide his glare from Morio this time. "Yes sir. It will be done."

Morio flashed another blinding smile and whisked himself from the office. In the doorframe, he turned and gave a waggle of the fingers towards the bookkeeper.

"I look forwards to our next chat, Tamai-kun. I'll be sure and bring you some of that dreadful beef ramen you like so well. You're looking rather thin. No wonder you can't get a date for the company socials." He swept out into the basement and shut the door behind him just as an inkwell shattered into the spot where his head had been.

Remember that straw we were talking about? Well scratch that. A freight train had been dropped onto poor Tsuyoshi's back, crushing his tentative hold on civility and his anger in an instant.

Tsuyoshi's face was frozen in a rictus of rage. He looked down at the folder in his hands.

Slowly, an evil smile worthy of the fallen angel himself spread across the bookkeeper's face.

Orders are orders. But of course, it wasn't his fault if the forms had been incorrectly filled out, now was it?

He had been a faithful servant of the Underworld for quite awhile now. He had never made a mistake and he was (somewhat) famously known for it. Orders and rules were considered sacred to shinigami and the entire Underworld in general. Breaking a rule meant permanent social exile. Disobeying an order earned you a one way ticket to hell, no questions asked.

The Underworld really was a group of uptight bastards.

But for once, that would work in his favor. The last person to handle the orders was his dear Asaka-senpai. No matter how powerful he was or respected he was, being found guilty of tampering with the orders given by the Overlord of the Underworld himself would surely put him up shit creek without a paddle. Or a boat for that matter.

Still grinning maniacally, he flipped open the folder to the first order form, one of two souls that required a temporary body. All he had to do was change the body so drastically, that soul inhabiting it would pitch a hissy fit and complain to someone.

Inquiries would be made and voila! Framing 101 made easy. Morio Asaka would find himself on a trip to the land down under…um…the Underworld.

He hunched over the forms, the only sound in his office being his disturbingly heavy breathing and the _scritch scritch_ of the pen on paper.

Finally finished, he closed the folder and placed in the outbox, where it popped out of existence and to the Developing Department.

Revenge was sweet and Asaka was going to damn well get a mouthful of it.

_There_, he thought viciously, _shove that up your ass. Let's see you worm your way out of this one, senpai._

Feeling much happier than he had in ages, Tsuyoshi cleaned off his desk and shrugged his dusty robes off of him. Grabbing his yukata, he switched off all the lights and headed home to get happily drunk and swim in ramen.

It's not every day that you get to celebrate the damnation of a mortal enemy, now is it?

----------

Somewhere in Wave country, in a small grove of trees, there lay two graves.

They weren't very fancy. They were merely two earthen graves with crudely manufactured markers of wood. Upon one hung a simple sash, much like the ones worn by Hunter-nin to keep their overcoats closed and secure.

Behind the other, there stood an enormous sword, rusty and forlorn.

The grove was peaceful and serene, the perfect resting place for any soul.

In the evening light, the earth over the grave of Mamochi Zabuza became restless. It was shifting obscenely, bulging and moving in ways that the ground should never move in.

A hand suddenly burst from the grave, and then another followed. Soon after that, Zabuza himself emerged from the earth gasping for air and flinging vile curses from mouth that very nearly withered the grass around him.

A moments later, one very naked Zabuza rose from his grave, covered in dirt and mad as hell.

"You'd think that those assholes down there would have the sense to reanimate us above ground," he muttered crossly as he attempted to clear the dirt from his hair, "but _noooo…_it was easier to do it where we were buried!" He dug a particularly slimy earthworm out of his ear. "Lazy bastards."

He glanced over at Haku's grave to his right. It was undisturbed.

"Oi!" He pulled himself out of the dirt and walked over to the grave, still getting used to having flesh and bone legs again. "Rise and shine, Haku. We've got work to do!"

He kicked the grave for good measure, nearly sending him sprawling to the ground again.

A few moments later, one Miyakawa Haku dug himself out of the dirt, also gasping for air.

Zabuza really did fall back on his ass as Haku commenced to brush the dirt off of himself. He was slack jawed and red in the face.

After a few moments of tense silence, which consisted of Zabuza leering at Haku's body, the younger Mist-nin finally noticed his master's state of shock.

"Um, Zabuza-san, is there something wrong? I realize that we have no clothes but that is not a problem?" He was a little put off by Zabuza's outright staring. It wasn't lecherous or anything. As a matter of fact, it seemed that his stare was more catatonic than anything.

"Is there something on my--"

Haku was cut off by Zabuza, who merely raised his hand and pointed at his chest. Haku blushed.

"Now really, just because I'm a little thin isn't cause for concern. You never really noticed because I was always wrapped up in those baggy clothes." Haku reached up and brushed his chest off. "Once I'm dressed--"

Wait a second.

There was something soft and very squishy on Haku's chest. It was firm, yet soft. And it was in a place that no squishy, soft or firm things belonged.

Slowly, ever so excruciatingly slowly, Haku brought his eyes down to his chest. There was a large globule of flesh nestled in Haku's hand. Experimentally, he squeezed it a few times.

Yep, definitely real.

Haku brought his eyes back up and looked at Zabuza, who apparently had lost all motor function.

Haku brought his hand back down to his side.

He then proceeded to faint right back into the grave behind him.

Zabuza blinked. He shakily rose to his feet and peered down at Haku. He was still hopeful. Perhaps it was a mistake that could be easily fixed. His eyes peered intently at the junction between Haku's legs. What he found, or rather what he didn't find depressed him immensely.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck wearily. "Ok, so he…….I mean she……..is now missing a few vital parts of hi--I mean, her anatomy. I can deal with this."

Famous last words.

Mamochi Zabuza, Demon of the Mist, one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist, and all around bloodthirsty bastard, fainted dead away at the sight of a now female Haku.

There was going to be Hell to pay when those two woke up. Heads would roll and entrails would spill.

Somewhere deep inside Shinigami Headquarters, a small, timid looking shinigami sneezed violently.

**My, oh my. This is certainly an interesting twist. Never investigate the power of a disgruntled postal--I mean shinigami. How will Zabuza deal with a now female but equally pretty Haku? The Fanfiction gods are cruel, mon ami, are they not?**

**Be kind and review. I enjoy hearing each and every opinion on this story, whether it be good or bad. Once again, I thank those that reviewed and I hope that they continue to review.**


	3. Hellhounds for Hire part 1

**Dead on Arrival**

**A Xenocide production**

**AN: Regardless of the amount of reviews I'm getting, this is actually the first time that I've been having fun while writing. It's nice to be able to write without really worrying what others think. Still, I do love those reviews, so keep'er coming people! **

**Summary: Death has not been kind to one Mamochi Zabuza. He was destined for Hell before he even set one foot on that Bridge. But, he only has to do one little thing and all is forgiven: Kill the Kyuubi no Kitsune. Simple, right? **

**Enjoy and review…..please?**

**Disclaimer: I may not own Naruto, but oh, the things I'd do for it. (Shudders in horror) The wonderful, disturbing, bloody, and terrifying things I'd do for it…..**

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Chapter Three: Hellhounds for Hire part 1**

Once, there was a small, unimportant port city on the main island of Wave Country. In earlier, simpler times, it had been a bustling hive of wealth and commerce. The sea was their main source of income, and it remained so until the shipping lanes began to wane.

Larger, more accessible ports began to spring up in other places along the island. For a port city that was located the farthest away from the capital, the most troublesome to reach, and not directly accessible to commercial freighters, it was impossible to keep a steady flow of trade and be able to compete with the newer and larger ports. Over the centuries, it shrunk from a grand port to a small village that was struggling to survive.

Until one day, a small time bridge builder by the name of Tazuna had the wonderful idea of building a bridge to connect the main island to the second largest island to the south of it.

The new bridge would surely revive the dying village!

Instead of hiring an expensive ferry or having to travel all the way around the island to gain access to the rest of Water Country's archipelago, a bridge would save time and effort for the many travelers that continuously island hopped as they moved about. And more people passing through the small village meant more money to be made.

The villagers praised Tazuna for his innovative idea and what little money they had left they poured into materials and extra manpower for the building of the bridge.

Progress on the Great Bridge had been underway for several months and was progressing smoothly. But….someone began to take notice of the goings on in the sleepy village.

The head of an insidious crime syndicate, the most feared Yakuza boss in Wave country, Gatou saw the bridge-building effort as an opportunity to establish a foothold in illegal trade and rake in even more money. The ownership of the bridge could make him the most powerful Gang Head in both Fire and Water countries.

And so, it was with a great deal of phony sincerity and generosity that the Great Boss Gatou lowered himself to a country bumpkin's level in order to persuade (intimidate) the old man into giving it to him or outright buying (bribing) the bridge from him.

To his chagrin and incredulity, the old man flatly refused and practically slammed the door in Gatou's face. That pretty much signed the village's death warrant.

Gatou became a name synonymous with death and fear in the little village. All work on the bridge had stopped, which was just what Gatou planned. If he could intimidate the villagers long enough, they would give up and just hand over to him the deed to the bridge.

It was a simple strategy, but it was working. The people of Wave country were stout and hardly the sort that was faint of heart. But there was only so much that this hardy people could take. Another month or so, and the bridge would have had a new owner.

It most certainly would have happened had Tazuna not snuck out of the village to travel to the powerful Hidden Village of The Leaf to hire a certain team of shinobi….

Needless to say, Zabuza was not happy to be back in this village, the place where he met his violent end. Haku was still out cold, much to the Mist-nin's annoyance.

_Losing and then gaining a few extra body parts is more than enough to freak anybody out, I suppose. _Zabuza thought wryly.

His mission was simple. Scouting out the terrain and…gaining some clothing.

And so, it was with great trepidation and caution that he snuck out of his hiding place in the bushes and crept stealthily towards a line of clothing flowing in the breeze to dry. He felt more exposed than usual, if you'll pardon the pun, out here in the open and in broad daylight. A ninja worked best from the shadows and behind the scenes, not exposing himself for all the world to see. (Damn those insidious puns!)

Stealthily, he reached up to the cloth line, deftly nabbing two pairs of pants, several shirts, and a yukata for Haku.

For the most part, Zabuza had come to terms with the boy's---err, girl's--new appearance.

To be perfectly honest, it was actually a bit more comforting to have Haku as a female than a male.

Because let's face it: it's downright creepy to have older men constantly hitting on your partner. Especially when they find out when he's male.

What really offended his sensibilities was the few men that continued their advances, even after they discovered the truth.

Zabuza shuddered involuntarily, as he was reminded of the poor souls that had lost certain valuable appendages on their person when Haku had been pushed to his breaking point. While the boy had the patience of a saint, there were some things that he would just not tolerate.

Hidden quietly behind a few bed sheets fluttering in the gentle breeze, he scanned the area for any witnesses. It would be hard to explain to a hysterical housewife why he was currently naked and stealing freshly washed clothing from her backyard.

Suddenly, the bed sheet that had kept him hidden from view was plucked daintily from the line, and he was left doing the full monty to a horrifyingly familiar face.

Tsunami, daughter of Tazuna the bridge builder and mother to Inari, froze instantly when she saw a man in nothing but the skin he was born in and clutching her family's clothes to his chest.

Her mouth worked silently, flopping open and shut a few times, as if working up the courage to scream. Zabuza, sensing the impending danger to his health, did the only thing he could think of.

Beg for his life.

Still clutching the various clothes to his chest with one hand, he held up the other, in what was meant to be a soothing gesture and murmured, "Now, take it easy, lady. There's no need to get upset---"

He might very well have gotten away with it, if not for the fact that he looked like a vagabond bum, naked and covered in flaking bits of mud.

"**EeEEeEEEEEeeEeEEEeeEEeee**!!!!!"

He was cut off with an air shattering shriek. Tsunami had finally gotten over her initial shock and was letting the entirety of Wave country know it.

Zabuza winced mightily. There went one plan shot to hell. He tried once again to calm the agitated woman once more.

"Come on lady, no need to get all---"

But Tsunami was having none of it. Her initial shock and terror was now replaced with a burning rage that was the birthright of every woman since the dawn of time.

Her eyes were now burning with an inner fire of zealous rage, which Zabuza recognized immediately.

"Oh sh--"

Before he could finish his terribly obvious and astute assessment of the situation, Tsunami let out a menacing howl.

"YOU…..PERVERT!"

Zabuza had faced down many enemies in his previous lifetime, and he had literally laughed in Death's face. But there was one thing that truly terrified him:

A woman in a fit of righteous rage.

He was actually contemplating running away when a thought suddenly hit him.

_You're a ninja, and the Demon of the Mist you moron! Snap the woman's neck with a mizu bunshin while you make your escape and be done with it!_

He shook his head at himself. What had he been thinking, getting ready to flee like a coward? Mamochi Zabuza had never once fled from a battle that he thought he could win, and he wasn't about to start now.

He grinned, baring his teeth at the woman, who was still quivering in indignant rage.

He was still grinning as Tsunami somehow produced a gardening hoe from behind her back and barreled towards Zabuza, shrieking incoherently.

It was only when she was a mere few steps away that he finally reached for the wellspring of chakra inside of him, ready to unleash death upon this screeching harpy who thought to threaten him with a mere garden hoe.

It was to his great horror and shock, that when he reached for his chakra, he discovered that there was barely enough there to make a decent kawamiri.

Apparently, nobody had bothered to inform Zabuza that, as per him being dead for three years, it was going to take his new body several days to reacquire the power that he once held when alive.

He could only gape like an idiot as he grasped for chakra that was not there, all the while that hoe was getting closer and closer.

His last thoughts were to wish everlasting agony on the idiot who neglected to mention this tiny fact.

His vision was then suddenly filled with the dull glint of a common garden hoe racing towards his skull.

ß----------à

For the second time in less than twenty four hours, Hanatarou sneezed violently, dropping a large tome of records on his captain's toes, causing him to squall like a scalded cat.

He bowed and apologized profusely, and bent to pick the heavy book up off the floor, when yet another sneezing fit caused him to fall back into the still squalling captain and knocking him into the bookcase.

"Are you ok, senpai?" The small shinigami's voice wavered as he tried to dig the unfortunate man out from under a pile of musty records. One more strike on his record and he would be sent to work as a bookkeeper in the basement. He shuddered inwardly. He would do anything to avoid _that_ dreadful fate.

Morio Asaka could only groan in agony from under the shelf.

It took a team of three shinigami the better part of a day to sift through the books and dig him out. No one could quite muster the enthusiasm to cheer when his twitching hand was discovered under an obscure copy of demon mating rituals.

ß----------à

"Oh, dear God in heaven….." An agonized groan announced Zabuza's arrival at the gravesite and makeshift camp of the two formerly deceased nin.

A slumped figure, now fortunately clothed, limped his way into the circle of firelight, recently built by Haku, who was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest and her hands clasped tightly across her shins.

As he came closer, he could see that she had a faraway look on her face as she stared into the beguiling flames, and her eyes were visiting a different time and place unbeknownst to the Mist-nin.

Zabuza grunted painfully as he lowered himself, not too close, but a comfortable distance from Haku, articles of clothing still clutched in his hands.

Haku started as she heard Zabuza lower himself to the ground. She said not a word, not even at the cuts and bruises that adorned his face. Her eyes met his, and they stared at each other for a bit, somehow managing to tune out the rest of the world.

A particularly loud crackle from the fire jolted them out of their daze, and Zabuza tried to chase away the uncomfortable silence by offering Haku the clothes he had filched earlier in the day.

He thrust them out at her, growling, "It's the best I could do. Didn't really have time to look at size and everything."

She reached out and gingerly took the bundle of clothing from him with a look of gratitude on her face that warmed Zabuza immensely (though he would suffer more beatings at the hand of an enraged housewife before he ever admitted that), and rose to her feet to slip silently into the wood for some much needed privacy.

She returned a few moments later, sitting down a little closer to Zabuza than she had been before.

"They fit all right?" Zabuza ventured, hoping that he hadn't miscalculated by too much.

Haku smiled softly and spoke for the first time since they had been resurrected. "They do, Zabuza-san." She gave his small but numerous injuries a quick glance and arched her eyebrow in a silent query, grinning slightly in that maddening way that she knew irked her master so.

He grunted irritably yet again, somehow managing to ignore Haku's frank assessment of his abilities as a ninja. Anyone would have trouble even beating a three year old after being dead for over three years. "They'll do till we can get some proper gear."

Haku nodded and resumed staring into the depths of the fire, as if she could find the secrets of the universe hidden in the flames.

Zabuza sighed internally. It was not in his nature to enjoy conversation. Most of the time, he was silent, and preferred silence. Haku understood this almost from the very onset of their relationship as master and student. Silence was comfortable, easy, and required very little effort, which was exactly how Zabuza wanted it: uncomplicated.

But now, he felt compelled to speak. The silence and widening gap between him and his student was quickly becoming unbearable.

So awkwardly, painfully, and quietly, he asked Haku something that no self-respecting ninja would ever ask a comrade.

"Are you all right?"

She looked up, her gaze still slightly unfocused from whatever she was thinking of. "Hmm?" She shook her head, as if to clear it, and gaze refocused on her teacher. "Oh yes, Zabuza-san, I'm fine."

He was distinctly uncomfortable with the issue of Haku's new gender, but the issue had to be addressed before they could begin their mission in earnest.

He gestured vaguely at Haku's body, not quite knowing what to say. "This….will not be a….problem for you?"

Haku smiled wanly. "It has certainly taken some getting used to, Zabuza-san." She shrugged. "I am still me, merely in a different body. It will not affect my ability to complete the mission."

That wasn't exactly what Zabuza was asking. There was a time, back in the beginning of this whole mess, when Haku's answer would have satisfied him. As a ninja, the mission is the only thing that was important. Nothing else mattered, except the circumstances or factors that would hamper or aid the completion of the mission.

He struggled to keep this mantra in his head, but somehow, he heard his traitorous mouth opening. "We'll get it fixed, if you like."

Haku's eyes widened at his words and glimmered with something that Zabuza couldn't identify. He cursed himself for sounding so sentimental. In an effort to return to normalcy, he quickly added, "I don't want to waste time waiting for you to get used to your new body. I want this over and done with as quick as possible."

For good measure, he curled his lip to indicate his displeasure, as if this whole situation was Haku's fault.

The mysterious look in Haku's eyes disappeared instantly as she responded solemnly, "Hai, Zabuza-san. I shall be ready to move in the morning."

Zabuza spat tersely, "Good. In the morning before we set out, we'll contact those assholes to let them know we've arrived in one piece."

He glanced around the campsite, seemingly in search of something. "By the way, where in the hell is that thing they told us they'd be sending along? Said it'd be in the one of the graves with us." He looked over at Haku. Haven't seen anything, have you?"

Haku nodded and handed a small, glinting object that had been laying beside her to Zabuza. "I found this next to me when I woke up." He took it from her and turned it over in his hands, studying it intently. "I believe it is the communication device Shinigami-san mentioned."

The device was actually just a small, handheld mirror, with the inscription _Speculum Porta _in silver gilt along the rim.

Finishing his inspection, he laid it beside him. "We'll figure it out in the morning."

Haku nodded in agreement.

There was now nothing to fill the awkward silence that was once again casting it's pall over the two nin.

Abruptly, Zabuza, laid down on the grond and pillowed his head in the crook of his arm, his towards the fire and Haku. "It's late. Sleep is the best thing we can do for now. You've got first watch."

Haku could only stare at Zabuza's back in bewilderment and a slight touch of hurt.

As she rested her back to a small boulder near the fire, she had to wonder.

Death had not separated them, and Haku was glad for that. And so, she had thought, was Zabuza. Why then, should such a small thing bother him so? The changing of her gender was a mere inconvenience and would not endanger the mission at all.

Zabuza's soul was at stake, and she knew it would be a harrowing journey to save it.

But as she settled herself for a long night, and to stare at the fire as she kept watch, a small seed was planted in her heart, and would trouble her for many a night to come.

Doubt in Zabuza and herself, where there had never been before.

**-------------------------------**

**Sorry about taking so long to update. Please forgive me! Bows low My life has been a bit busy of late, leaving little time for writing. And yes, this was a bit more serious than the previous chapters, but I don't want the humor to completely take over this fic. I hope to have one more chapter up before the hols. Wish me luck!**

**I wish to briefly thank Alka-Setzer and Digital Skitty for their particularly encouraging reviews. As you may have guessed, it doesn't take much to make me happy.**

**Please review!**

**Xeno**

**PS: A cyber-cookie for anyone who peg the inspiration for this Chapter title **


	4. Hellhounds for Hire part 2

**Dead on Arrival**

**A Xenocide production**

**AN: Ah, my muse has certainly been keeping me busy! For those of you who have seen my profile, you know that I have a tendency to start projects without finishing them. My muse abandons me whenever I am short on criticism. I like to think that this project will be the exception to the rule. Secondly, I wish to congratulate **movintarget **for being the first (and only) reviewer to nail the Samurai Champloo reference in my Chapter Titles. Cookies and Plushies abound!**

**Summary: Death has not been kind to one Mamochi Zabuza. He was destined for Hell before he even set one foot on that Bridge. But, he only has to do one little thing and all is forgiven: Kill the Kyuubi no Kitsune. Simple, right? **

**Enjoy and review…..please?**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Naruto. Never have, never will. Though in my darker moments, I like to imagine that Fem!Haku is my constant companion….**

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Chapter Four: Hellhounds for Hire part 2**

Dawn broke softly over Wave country, bathing it in a gentle, warming glow.

Zabuza stirred slightly, his sleep disturbed by the rays of sunlight that was peeking through the trees of the small clearing where he and his protégé had been resurrected from death. He sat up, wincing at the soreness in his muscles caused by sleeping on the cold, lumpy soil. Being without a mortal coil for so long had made him forget the rigors of living, namely, sleeping without the comfort of a bed and sheet.

Haku's voice wafted softly from the general direction of the fire. "Good morning Zabuza-san. I trust that you slept well?"

He curled his lip and grunted sourly. "Goddamn ground felt like a bed of nails."

He stood up, wincing as various joints creaked and groaned in weathered agony. He slowly made his way over to the revived flames of the fire, where a truly delicious smell made itself know to Zabuza's nostrils.

Haku was kneeling over a crude spit, meticulously sprinkling some unknown but savory herb on the crackling skin of a small hare. She looked up at his pained approach and smiled softly.

"Been a regular busy bee, now haven't we?" Zabuza muttered, as he breathed in the mouthwatering aroma with a great deal of satisfaction, his foul mood dissipating somewhat with the prospect of a full belly. Being dead tends to really stoke your appetite after not eating so much as a piece of bread for three years.

Haku nodded and turned back to her chore, taking great care to cook the meat thoroughly. "Nutrients will be extremely important if we are to quickly regain our energy and chakra reserves. Fortunately, wild game is hardly scarce in this area."

The Mist-nin was jolted out of his food induced stupor and frowned at this. "Woulda been nice to know that nifty little fact yesterday when I was getting the crap beat out of me by that bit-"

He was interrupted by a smoking haunch of hare on a stick thrust into his hands.

"Here. The herbs used as seasoning should also act as a chakra booster." She tore off a piece of haunch for herself and settled down to eat. "This should be more than enough to get our systems jump started."

In between dainty bites of hare, she glanced over at Zabuza, who was glaring suspiciously at the meat. With a grimace, he looked over at Haku, who was somehow already on her second helping of hare.

"What kind of funky plant did put on this thing anyway?"

"It is merely a chakra booster," she assured her master in between mouthfuls, "nothing more."

"Riiiiggghhtt….." He drawled sarcastically. He held the leg by a thumb and forefinger far away from his face as possible. "That's what you said the last time you found a 'natural' booster."

The female nin was, as she consumed yet another serving of meat, looking a tad embarrassed, if the slight tinge of pink in her cheeks was anything to go by.

"The apothecary assured me that it was perfectly safe to use." She mumbled to the side.

"Safe!?!" An irate Zabuza growled as he waved the leg in Haku's general direction. "I must have spent three days in the crapper!"

Another mumble from Haku, who was swallowing the last of the hare.

"Damnit Haku, that quack suckered you out of a week's pay! Don't give me that 'but it was on sale' crap!" His words were punctuated by violent stabs of the offending leg in the air.

Quickly dousing the flames, she expertly covered the scraps and remnants of the fire under dirt and other sorts of debris, a habit borne out of necessity.

"But you must admit Zabuza-san, it cleansed our systems as promised." She absently dusted her hands as she gave the camp a critical eye. The camouflage was not perfect, which was understandable since she was out of practice, but it would fool most people, as long as they didn't nose around too much.

Zabuza was now near apoplectic with rage, his right eye twitching with a vengeance. "You dosed me with a fucking laxative, you moron!"

"Language, master, language." A nonchalant Haku replied lightly. She turned and began to slowly saunter out of the clearing in the general direction of the nearby village. "We'd best get a move on. It is imperative that we resupply and prepare for the journey ahead."

Zabuza suddenly found himself standing alone in the deserted clearing where he had once laid side by side in death with his loyal servant, wondering how Haku managed to get the best of him even when she herself was at fault, and holding a rapidly cooling leg of hare, the only remnants of the large breakfast that Haku had prepared.

He somehow got the feeling that he had just been screwed over royally, but he just couldn't figure out how.

A beat.

He shrugged and, with a half-hearted glare at Haku's back, took a huge bite of the meat.

He'd rip Haku a new one if the 'natural' remedy 'cleansed' his body like last time.

Another beat.

He snickered snidely, spewing small crumbs of flesh from his mouth. Haku certainly didn't need assistance in the extra orifice department.

Still gnawing at the leg, he walked over to the grave and hoisted a rusty Headcleaver over his shoulder. He would never admit to such a sentimental emotion, but he had a fondness for the weapon. It had served him well, and he would hate to see it lay abandoned at the wayside. Perhaps the local smithy could make some use out of the blade.

Making sure that the Underworld Mirror was tucked securely in his shirt, he moved quickly to catch up to Haku, never giving the two forlorn graves a backwards glance.

ß----------à

With a belch of satisfaction, Zabuza threw the bare bone over his shoulder on the dusty road, licking the leftover grease from his fingers.

Haku wrinkled her nose delicately at the older nin's lax table manners.

"Really, Zabuza-san, must you be so crude?" She then gave a pointed glance at the small public wastebaskets that occasionally dotted the jumble of streets and alleyways in the lively Hidden Village of the Mist. "And would it really take so much effort to make the extra step to the wastebasket?"

Zabuza smirked unrepentantly as he mocked Haku. "Yep, as a matter of fact it would. You should know better, Haku. Conserving your energy is most important for a ninja. Be prepared for the unexpected and all that."

Haku shook her head exasperatedly at her master's antics. For a bloodthirsty nin feared as far and widely as her master, he certainly had a penchant for acting like a bratty genin.

The open marketplace was alive with the press of the crowds and the din of merchants trying to hawk their wares to random passerby. Fortunately for the duo, they had been resurrected on a weekend, where the bustling crowds of the shopping arcade offered complete anonymity.

As they strolled slowly down the pave way with the flow of humanity, Haku blinked and turned to Zabuza, an interesting thought having suddenly crossed her mind. "How exactly are we going to pay for all of our supplies? Hanatarou-san did not afford us any coin, unfortunately."

Zabuza frowned and made yet another addition to his long list of Why All Shinigami Are Shameless Bastards.

He blinked. Wow. You could actually _feel_ the capital words on that one.

Feeling a faint glow of pride at himself for his utterly absurd and useless achievement, he scanned the crowded arcade for a suitable target.

Haku was startled at the vicious grin that suddenly plastered itself on her master's face. That particular grin was usually a portent for the disembowelment of random passerby and the amazing appearance of flying limbs.

"Zabuza-san-" She tried to head off his current train of thought but it was futile. With that shit-eating grin on his face, the Mist-nin stalked off into the crowd.

She sighed softly and shook her head, remaining on the street corner to watch the schizo that was her master at work.

Said schizo currently had his sights set on a particularly portly man, a merchant by the looks of him. His gaudy clothing and blindingly fake jewelry screamed wealth and high social standing.

The poor bastard never knew what hit him.

Zabuza, still sporting that disturbing grin, purposely altered his path to collide with the merchant, who was in deep conversation with a painfully thin man who was trying his damndest to look even remotely interested in the words and frothy spittle that was spewing from the merchant's mouth.

As Zabuza neared his victim, he began to make out parts of a conversation that would most likely be voted Biggest Waste of Time and Effort.

His grin widened, if at all possible, at his second successful capitalization of his inner thoughts.

"-couldn't believe the man's audacity!" The swinelike merchant was saying indignantly. "I'll have you know that this hat was at the very height of fashion in the Old Capital." He snorted, much to Zabuza's amusement. "This backwards little pest-hole could use a few lessons in civility." The thin man beside the merchant was staring off into space, dreadfully bored yet still aware enough of his surroundings to not crash into any other passerby and manage to nod at appropriate times during his companion's rant.

"Why, if I had my way--" He was cut off by a very rough bump from Zabuza as he purposefully slammed his elbow into the shorter man's shoulder.

The merchant's gasp of outrage wakened his companion from his stupor just in time to prevent the heavier man from reducing him to a smear on the cobblestones.

"How dare you!?!?!" The merchant sputtered angrily as he tried to prevent himself from taking a nasty fall. "Do you have any idea who I am, you wretched peasant!?!"

Zabuza halted in midstride and pivoted slowly to face the porcine fool, that grin still on his face.

"What was that, little piggy?" He snarled in his best evil bastard voice. "I don't speak swine, you know." He bared his teeth. "You'll have to squeal a little clearer than that."

Still fumbling with his horrendously tacky hat and his balance the man blurted out, "Bastard! I'll have you--" And here, he cut himself off as he got a good look at the 'wretched peasant'.

The ninja presented a terrifying profile, eyes open wide, his teeth bared in his trademark animalistic grin, and his fingers dancing impatiently around the hilt of his sword.

A few curious onlookers had stopped to see the commotion, but the maniacal look on the stranger's face hurried them along with furtive looks over their shoulder. Mostly, the crowd just walked around the disturbance, ignoring the unpopular merchant and his plight.

The blood drained from the man's face in record time, leaving him pale as uncooked bacon. "P-p-pardon me, good-"

"Shuddup." He was cut off rather nastily by an amused Zabuza, who was certainly reveling in the fact that he had very nearly scared the pisswater out of the quivering heap of flesh. And with no killing intent either. Damn, he still had it!

A sharp smell permeated the air and a dark stain grew down the man's silk robes. Correction-_had_ scared the pisswater out of him.

Zabuza curled his lip in disgust.

"And what exactly were you going to do to little ole me?" He sneered.

The piss laden man was now uttering gibberish, looking around wildly for help, though to no avail. Thin man had apparently high-tailed it out of there while he could.

Smart man.

Though tempted to kill the man purely for being the saddest excuse of a human being he'd ever come across, Zabuza knew the death would cause more trouble than it was worth.

"Scram, piggy. Go home to your sow."

His harsh growl elicited a pig-like squeal (which was very satisfying for some reason) from the piss covered man and he ran--well, waddled--away as fast as his body could carry him.

A few bystanders cheered in appreciation, though Zabuza ignored them outright as he sauntered victoriously back towards his ward.

Haku had viewed the whole fiasco with a wry grin on her face. The whole thing had certainly been very entertaining, but it was done for no reason whatsoever. Her master may have been a sadistic, twisted man, but he never wasted his energy on so extravagant a display unless there was a reason for it. Time and experience had taught her that there was a purpose behind every action her teacher had taken, even if she could not fathom it.

It was one of the many things that had kept the duo's heads from being stuffed and presented as personal trophies for the Mizukage.

"I presume there was actually a point to that whole thing, Zabuza-san?"

Zabuza grinned rakishly and snorted. "You presume correctly." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a particularly fat wallet in the shape of a pig, tossing it to Haku who caught it in one hand with a look of surprise on her face. "Whoever said crime doesn't pay had no idea what the hell they were talking about."

After wincing at his atrocious pun, Zabuza noticed the surprised look that was still on Haku's face. "What?" He said incredulously. "You'll kill and maim but not steal?" He shook his head. "And people say I'm fucked up in the head."

His student pocketed the wallet, the surprise gone from her face. "It's not that, Zabuza-san. It's just, I didn't know you were so good at…at…" She seemed to struggle to find a more diplomatic word.

"Pickpocketing?" Zabuza supplied good-naturedly as he leaned against the corner of the fruit vendor's stall.

"Well, yes." She muttered lamely.

Zabuza chuckled. He always got a kick out of seeing Haku flustered. It was far and few between that he got the chance to one up his companion. "Learned from a fellow chuunin quite a while back." At Haku's yet another surprised look, he added, "I haven't told you _everything _about me, you know. Gotta keep a little mystery to the man."

Though he had meant it as a teasing remark, the slightly hurt look that flitted across Haku's face told him that this time he had stepped over the line.

Before he could call her on it, the expression was gone and Haku's usual mask of cool amusement was back in place. "Indeed, the mystery is all you have left."

Muttering sullenly in his head that he couldn't be blamed that this new female Haku was so damn sensitive to joking, Zabuza ground out after a few moment's of frigid silence, "I'm headed over to the smithy. The old bastard owes me a favor. It's about time I collected it." He had to raise his voice to be heard over the particularly insistent fruit vendor. "What about you?"

"I'll be here in the arcade for a bit, then to the local apothecary." She replied coolly. "Supplies are first on the list." She looked around, standing slightly on tiptoe to peer over the heads of the crowd. "Shall we meet at that bar on the corner?"

Zabuza craned his head to follow Haku's outstretched finger.

A weathered sign, depicting a crudely crafted eye, hung over the entrance to a small pub called The Leviathan.

"That'll do. Around six then?"

Haku nodded. "As usual." She nodded to Zabuza then turned and made her way towards the cloth merchants, presumably to purchase clothing that was more suitable for a ninja.

Still muttering about that 'godamned PMS', Zabuza turned and headed towards the smithy.

An old acquaintance was about to receive a very nasty shock to his system. It wouldn't be very surprising at all if the old geezer dropped dead of a heart attack.

Focused on that rather heart-warming thought, he managed to push all thoughts of Haku out of his mind.

He would deal with that later when it came time to use the mirror.

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**AN: Alrighty then, there you are. Chapter four in all it's glory. I apologize for the lateness, but this is just the kind of writer that I am. Without motivation (hint, hint) I lack the inner fire to write like a manic. So I write at a more leisurely pace.**

**Next up, we actually get to that thing called the plot. A meeting with the Shinigami and possibly the conclusion of the small Hellhounds for hire arc.**

**Toodles.**


	5. Hellhounds for Hire part 3

**Dead on Arrival**

**A Xenocide production**

**AN/Rubs back of head sheepishly/ Yes well, so sorry for the long wait, but life, as usual, has been hectic and it's hard to find the time to write, much less post. Even reading time has been cut back a crapload. As such, I humbly beg your forgiveness. Edited a few things in previous chapters, such as the fact that Wave country is an archipelago and not a continent (that one actually deserves some bodily harm for being so incredibly stupid). Now, after cursing me to hell and back for being so late, enjoy the newest chapter! **

**Summary: Death has not been kind to one Mamochi Zabuza. He was destined for Hell before he even set one foot on that Bridge. But, he only has to do one little thing and all is forgiven: Kill the Kyuubi no Kitsune. Simple, right? **

**Enjoy and review…..please?**

**Disclaimer: l337 /\/\4573R K15H1/\/\070 PVVN5 N4RU70!!!! (If you can speak l337, you have far too much time on your hands...)**

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**Chapter Five: Hellhounds For Hire part 3**

Kibinna Kiten was a paranoid old bastard.

But he had a perfectly good reason for it. Really.

At the ripe old age of 62, he was the oldest living ANBU Black Ops in the history of Kirigakure to successfully retire from the corps and live a relatively peaceful life for the remainder of his so-called 'Golden Years'.

Except for the occasional attempt on his life.

As ANBU Black Ops, the elite of the elite who took only the most dangerous missions, mostly assassinations, one tends to acquire many, many enemies in one's tenure. The anonymity of the mask worn by each member, as well as the government stipulation that all 'official' records of a shinobi's induction into the Black Ops Corps be sealed from the public eye, offered some protection from retaliation by grieving families, disgruntled lovers, and even the occasional bounty hunter.

However, once you hung up the mask, what little protection that you had was swiftly stripped away from you.

When a Black Ops ANBU retires, the government drops them like a hot potato, unwilling to protect a tool that was useful no longer. As such, all previously sealed files on past missions could be acquired by any civilian or fellow shinobi who knew where to look and who to ask.

It wasn't uncommon for recent retirees to be found dead in some form or fashion no less than a week after they signed the papers.

It became something of an inside joke to the Black Ops Corpsmen. A popular saying went, "Better to die faceless by the enemy's blade than to be seen mask less by a mark's old lover."

As you can imagine, gallows humor was greatly appreciated and even encouraged amongst the ranks.

To date, the grizzled retiree had survived 23 assassination attempts, escaped 12 kidnapping attempts, and dodged one attempt on the sanctity of his genitals. He really shouldn't count that last one, considering that an old flame was the cause of that particular incident…

Over the years, he had learned to expect the unexpected and literally look beneath the underneath. In the Corps, he had been a trap specialist. His comrades would joke saying that if you pissed Kiten off, you'd better watch your ass because he'd be sure to pay you back tenfold. People actually started taking that wonderful tidbit of advice to heart when a particularly irksome rival of his had been trapped in his apartment for four days, pinned down on the toilet by a spring loaded explosive kunai that had been hidden in the commode. It was good to be feared.

Over the years, his paranoia slowly ascended into the fabled halls of legend.

When he had first been discharged, some bright young sealmaster with a grudge had figured out a clever way to seal a stack of explosive tags in the guise of a letter, resulting in a very messy dismemberment when the intended recipient opened the envelope. Fortunately for the recent retiree, some poor mail carrier with a backlog of bad karma had accidentally caught a corner of the letter in the mailbox.

Kiten had been scrubbing entrails from his windows and mailbox for a week afterwards.

Now, the mail runners wouldn't even touch his mailbox with a twenty foot pole, for fear of the deadly contact poison that he was rumored to have spread on the surfaces to prevent unwanted tampering. The contact poison was utterly ridiculous, of course. How else would he retrieve or mail a letter?

The bundle of poisoned senbon coiled to strike when one opened the lid, however, was not ridiculous in the slightest. A nasty surprise awaited the unwary person who did not know of the hidden latch beneath the handle of the mailbox door. Only one trusted mail carrier knew of the latch.

These sorts of rumors, along with his tendency to booby trap his home against even the most wary visitor, had earned him the grudging respect of his enemies.

The villagers, on the other hand, were absolutely terrified of him. They crossed to the opposite side of the street when they saw his burly frame coming. With a permanent scowl on his face and covered in soot from the forge, his hobby since retirement, he made a rather imposing figure. Parents strictly forbade their children from going anywhere near his front door. In short, Kiten was probably the most feared man in the village, barring the Rokudaime Mizukage and the ANBU Corps.

And that was exactly how he liked it.

As time went by, as per the growth of his reputation, the attacks were slowly decreasing. At this rate, he might actually make it to 70 before some younger spitfire shinobi got in a lucky shot.

As he usually did on a Sunday, Kiten was sitting at his workbench in the small room located in the back of his smithy. He was hunched over a katana that was braced by two clamps on both ends. He was working on his most recent commission, a ceremonial sword for the Commander of the regular Corps.

It was a beautiful piece of work, if he did say so himself. The blade itself was purely for decoration, a symbol of the long arm of the ANBU.

While he was primarily a forger, he was also skilled enough to do his own etchings, which is practically unheard of these days.

The forging of a blade typically takes hours or days, and is considered a sacred art. The most dedicated of swordsmen, those disturbing cults of men, located somewhere in the mountains no doubt, have even tried to establish the worship of the blade as an official religion. Fortunately, no daimyo as of yet has acceded to that request.

As with many complex endeavors, rather than a single craftsman, several artists, as they style themselves, are involved in the whole process. There is a smith to forge the rough shape of the blade, often a second smith to fold the metal, a specialist polisher as well as the various artisans that make the (1)tsuka, fuchi, kashira, and tsuba.

It takes a lifetime of dedication to become a true master of any of those arts, yet somehow, Kiten had managed to obtain proficiency in both forging and etching in his spare time in the Corps and his retirement.

With a small chisel and hammer, he was carefully in the process of completing the kanji naming the owner of the sword.

"(2)_Sakura sakura, yayoi no sora wa, miwatasu kagiri, kasumi ka kumo ka? Nioi zo izuru. Izaya izaya, mi ni yukan_…" He sang softly under his breath.

It was an old folk song that his mother would sing to him as a child.

Whenever he was etching, as he was now, he would find himself absentmindedly singing it over and over again until he finished.

"_Sakura, sakur_—" A small seal on the wall, one of five, suddenly flared brightly and gave off a shrill whistle. He looked up sharply, instantly tense and on alert.

Those seals were attuned to the traps that he had set in certain areas of his home. The third seal, which was the one attuned to the walkway located behind his abode, alerted him to the fact that someone had tripped the senbon clusters he had buried beneath the cobblestones.

He swiftly but calmly packed away his tools and his unfinished blade. A determined attacker aware of his reputation as a trap specialist would be wary of the many traps he would be sure to set in his own territory. A few measly kunai would do nothing to deter a halfway decent shinobi with any skill at all.

He would have to be in place, either to clean up the resulting mess of a failed sneak attack or to quickly ambush the intruder as he tried to gain entrance.

He grimly armed himself with his ANBU issue wakizashi and some exploding seals that happened to be handy.

It was better to be prepared for the worst. Black Ops, retired or not, never did things halfway.

ß----------à

Zabuza was striding angrily through the busy streets of the shopping arcade, a fiercely dark scowl on his face. Those who were in his way took one look at his face and quickly made themselves scarce.

By kami's blue forsaken balls, how in the world was he supposed get used to Haku's new and sudden mood swings!?!

"You'd think that she'dve learned how to take a goddamn joke by now!" He snarled to himself, not even bothering to lower his voice. "So she doesn't know every little thing about me. Boo-fucking-hoo."

He swiftly turned a corner, nearly bowling over a thin man trying to juggle an armload of groceries.

"Next she'll want to know how many times I took a piss without her knowing." He muttered sullenly.

He had tried to push thoughts of the young kunoichi out if his head, but it was to no avail.

He couldn't seem to get the image of her slightly hurt visage out of his head.

He gritted his teeth.

When he figured out how to use that ridiculous mirror the Shinigami sent with him, they were going to pay out the wazoo.

If he had to suffer one more minute of Haku's new gender and its wildly fluctuating mood swings, he would personally commit seppuku with his rusty zanbato with a huge smile on his face. But not before he had strangled those responsible for his plight with their own bowels.

He sighed forlornly as he absentmindedly turned yet another corner, this time down an alleyway. Things were so much simpler when he was dead. The only worries he had was obtaining the latest volume of Icha Icha (3) and looking vaguely threatening at anyone who tried to cut ahead of him in line.

_Yep, _he thought with no small amount of nostalgia, _those were the days. Hot chicks in bikinis and Haku was still pissing standing up._

Deep in thought, he nearly ran nose first into the iron gate that loomed in front of him.

He blinked at the rusty metal suddenly looming in front of his face.

He looked up at the number inscribed above the handle to the gate.

A beat.

He grinned.

Without his customary bandages to hide his face, his grin was a terrible sight to behold. His teeth honed to sharp points, (4)as all Swordsmen of the Mist did, one could almost compare the Mist nin to a shark.

Today was going to be a good day, bad start notwithstanding. Not even his little spat with Haku could ruin his sudden rise in euphoria.

The old man had been a legend even before he managed to join the ranks of the Seven. Even his comrades, especially Kisame for some reason, were wary of Kibinna-jiji. The grizzled old smith and himself had always been on decent terms, as much as two men from the Mist could be, anyway. Zabuza had respect for the man's survival skills and how he skillfully handled his zanbato when he brought it in for the occasional repair, and the old man had respect for his skills as a swordsman and a former ANBU corpsman.

Zabuza had never been clear cut Black Ops material, though he could have joined if had really put forth some effort. Black Ops involved far too much sneaking around for his taste. An all out brawl was more his style.

Zabuza remembered all too well that young sealmaster that had attempted to avenge his grandfather's undignified assassination by the hands of the then newly appointed Black Ops.

It was obvious that he had been behind the plot to blow the smith into tiny bloody chunks, but no one dared say it aloud, for fear of reprisal. Zabuza would have killed the man himself, if only to stop him from relieving the swordsman of the only man in leagues around that was skilled enough at the forge to repair his zanbato, but he was beaten to it. Not a full day after the sudden combustion of the mail carrier did the sealmaster die in an extremely unfortunate training accident. It seemed that one of the explosive seals had accidentally been ignited in the man's tag pouch, setting off a chain reaction that triggered an explosion to rival the fireworks of the Chinese New Year. Needless to say, very little of the unfortunate sealmaster was found.

The old man had merely shrugged at the news, but nobody was fooled. A trap specialist with enough focused chakra would find it no hardship at all to trigger a seal from a considerable distance.

Zabuza studied the door intently. The old man rotated his traps in irregular intervals, making it damn near impossible for anyone to sneak in undetected, much less unharmed. When he was still alive, Zabuza had been one of the very rare few that were notified of the new trap locations and how to get past them.

But it had been almost three and a half years since then. He would basically have to trust his instincts and rely on no small amount of luck to be able to get to the old man's house unscathed.

He squatted and peered into the keyhole. Good. No mini seals in the handle. It would have been quite inconvenient to learn how to fight one handed. He stood up and sniffed carefully at the hinges. So far, still good. No traces of gunpowder or (5)C4 clay. He peered through the bars. No tripwire on the other side of the handle.

Zabuza was feeling good. No traps on the door. The heavens were smiling down on him.

Though he was quite sure that there were no traps in the entrance, he nevertheless opened the iron grilled gate very, _very_ carefully. He grinned triumphantly when the door opened with no booms or flashes of silvery death.

It only took two steps in for him to see the tripwire glimmering faintly in the early afternoon sunlight. It was very cleverly hidden, and if the sun had not been shining exactly on it, he might have missed it.

_Not today, old man._ The nuke nin thought gleefully. _Even the gods are on my side. Not even you can take me down._

With exaggerated deliberateness, Zabuza arrogantly lifted up one foot and brought it down a good foot away from the tripwire.

And that's when what was nearly known as 'Zabuza's Extremely Good Super Lucky Happy Day!' became 'Zabuza's Godammit Why The Hell Can't I Catch A Break Day!?!' It seemed that his inner capitalization skills were improving.

The second his foot came down on a slightly upraised cobblestone, Zabuza knew he was well and truly screwed.

A loud **_click_** reverberated through the alley.

Not daring to move a muscle, Zabuza heard the telltale creak of the iron gate as it slowly close itself, activated by the trap he had so stupidly set.

His mind racing, Zabuza was quickly assessing his situation and sizing up his chances for survival. He hadn't been accepted into the Corps at age 14 for nothing. He'd be damned again if he was killed by a measly trap this time around.

_At the most, he could've only packed half a pound of C4 beneath the walkway without making it obvious. Diving forward is not an option. If he's got shrapnel, senbon, or kunai on top of that mess, there's no way I could get out of range fast enough._

Slowly, not taking a chance that a quick motion could set off the mine, he raised his head to look upwards.

_Hmm. Only twenty feet to the roof. If I'm lucky, I could probably make it in two jumps. Chakra isn't a problem, thank kami. Guess Haku actually knew what she was doing after all._

Decision made, he brought his head down and closed his eyes, concentrating intently on the amount of chakra he was channeling to his legs. Too much and he would overshoot, which was dangerous enough in it's own right. Being caught in midair with no way to doge potential shrapnel was not his idea of a good time. Too little, and he wouldn't be able to get out of range of the initial explosion.

Feeling confident, he crouched down preparing to jump, mindful of the mine still beneath his bare foot.

That's when his already rapidly decaying good luck went down the shitter.

A second, softer _click_ made itself known to his ears.

He could only watch in horror as no fewer than one dozen Senbon Spitters (all rights reserved), courtesy of some evil bastard up in Snow Country, slowly revealed themselves from false cobblestones hidden on the path. They were all aimed at him, and he could see the poison glistening at the ends of hundreds of senbon jutting out from the slots.

_That senile old fucker! He managed to disguise a weight sensor as a tripmine! Crouched like this, there's no way I'll be able to move fast enough to dodge them._

Though he was inwardly cataloguing all the anatomically impossible things he would force the old man to do if he managed to get out of this mess, he also had to admit how devious he was.

He had deliberately set the tripwire in plain sight, counting on a stranger's arrogance to lead him or her into the true trap.

A tripmine was the most obvious choice for a trap master to make in a crowded alleyway like this. But the old man had already know that even a shrapnel mine would only have a decent chance of killing an experienced shinobi. The surrounding buildings were far too low. Anyone with enough sense would conclude that the easiest escape route would be upwards. So he merely recalibrated the settings to include the second shift in weight distribution, triggering the senbon when said intruder was crouched in an awkward position with no chance of moving fast enough to escape the ensuing onslaught.

Zabuza fumed with the unfairness of it all. Less than 48 hours newly arisen and it looked like he was already going to be sent packing. He didn't relish the thought of how badly his reputation would suffer when the denizens of the Underworld found out he died by a senile old coot's booby trap.

Once again, he carefully surveyed his situation. There was always a solution to any problem, even if you had to make one yourself.

_Calm down. You've faced much worse on the ANBU training grounds. Be grateful that that they didn't set off the second your weight shifted. The captain wouldn't have been so generous._

He was quite puzzled as to why the traps had not triggered themselves yet. There was no way to integrate a timer into the wooden slats. The electricity required to power that many timers would have aroused far too much suspicion.

The only real answer to that would be yet another weight sensor. The slightest motion that indicated a readiness to flee would mean instant death. Though again, he had no idea why the old man would delay someone's death so needlessly. Every moment that passed meant another moment that an intruder could conceivably manufacture an escape plan.

Speak of the Devil…..

Zabuza smirked in victory.

_Heheheheheh…If I'm right about this old man, well, you're going to be short one very expensive security set._

He had gently released the chakra concentrated in his legs back to what he liked to call his 'center'. It was basically the wellspring from which his chakra flowed. In his earlier dismay, he had failed to notice the one tiny little thing that could very well save his life.

His chakra reserves were very nearly full.

In short, he was probably only half a day away from becoming as powerful as he was before his death.This now meant that a great deal of his jutsu arsenal was unlocked.

The one technique he was thinking of, however, was not in any way powerful. Far from it actually.

But the trouble lay in how far he would have to stretch the technique to include all twelve traps. If he was at his full power it would only have been a slight strain, but now? He would be taking a great gamble with his life.

The technique itself was more of a parlor trick than a combative jutsu. It has long been debated as to why ANBU never seem to sweat, even in the most profuse of heat. Most chalked it up to the near godlike abilities that the Corps were professed to have, and others would say it was from lack of fear and general emotions that kept an ANBU dry as a desert. They would be surprised to learn that it was merely a handy little cooling technique.

All one had to do was gather moisture from the air, inject it with a little "cold" chakra, and voila! An instant personal cooler. A lot of the guys jokingly called it the Refrigeration jutsu. It was dead useful in keeping up appearances for the locals. It was amazing what a small little trick like that would do to bolster the mystery and fear surrounding the Corps. It was also a good chakra builder, for those who have trouble with constantly maintaining a ready source of chakra. It required constant attention, and eventually, one would be able to maintain the trick even in the heat of battle.

All he had to do was increase the amount of cold chakra he pushed into the technique. Eventually, he could cool the gathered moisture enough to form a thin sheet of ice on the trigger mechanism, giving him just a second or two of a head start before the senbon would fire at him. He was no Haku, with her natural affinity for ice and a kekkei genkai to boot, but there were ways around that, even if it was nothing more than a parlor trick.

The only problem was the radius in which he had to spread the technique. It was meant to cling closely to the body, not disperse over a wide area. It had never been tried before, but it was theoretically possible, as long as one had the chakra reserves of demon.

He smirked wryly. Well, he wasn't called the Demon of the Mist for nothing, now was he?

He very slowly brought up his right hand in the only half seal that Haku had been able to teach him. It was a seal designed to aid the concentration and dispensation of chakra. And man, could he use all the help he could get! He was going to attempt to apply a technique that was meant to cover an area of approximately three inches above the skin to a (6)rough estimate of thirty six feet.

He reached into his center and gathered a pool of chakra. Exhaling slowly, he weaved the chakra into a fine mesh and sort of, for the lack of a better description, cast it out away from his body. Zabuza winced slightly and spewed forth vile epithets in the expanse of his thoughts. He had fallen short a good thirteen feet of his goal, and he was already starting to feel the faint tremors of chakra and muscle exhaustion. But he had to push himself. If he couldn't last a few more feet…..well, that thought wasn't worth finishing.

Before pushing the chakra further out, he wisely drew in the moisture from the surrounding air, causing his mouth to go dry almost instantly. Tentatively, he wove a feeling of coldness into his chakra, convincing the condensed water that it needed to harden. He was rewarded when a wave of frost covered the first seven traps with a thick layer of hoarfrost.

Brow furrowing intently, he forced the frost to burrow into the innards of the traps, creeping over cogs and wheels, seeping into metal catches, and slithering up and down the length of the senbon themselves.

Right. First half done.

He frowned as he assessed the state of his reserves. It was not good, not good at all. He thankfully had enough for the remaining distance, but only just. If he covered the rest in a rush, he would be overcome with a wave of fatigue. He would almost be near the level that he was when he was newly resurrected. He wasn't sure if he would be in a state to take advantage of the precious time that his idea would buy him.

With only a second's thought to spare at the consequences if he failed, he pressed on. He would die anyway when his leg muscles started to lock up and cramp, triggering the final sensor.

Drawing deeply from his center, he violently thrust the net of chakra the last remaining distance. Almost instantly, a wave of frost crackled angrily across the ground, ensnaring whatever was in its reach in an icy embrace. Immediately after his gargantuan effort, Zabuza felt a wave of tremors preparing to wrack his body.

_Not yet, dammit! I'm almost there!_

The act of standing up quickly nearly drove him back to his knees. The second he moved, he could hear the whines, clicks, and groaning protests as the traps struggled to cut him down in a wave of glittering death.

With a strength born of desperation, Zabuza launched himself towards the end of the alley, and the door that led to the back of the old man's home.

He was past one. Then three. Then eight. Hope rose in him as he miraculously made it past trap number twelve still unscathed.

He heard the shattering shrieks of ice as the mechanized traps finally broke its hold and swiveled to follow his stumbling progress, and he could almost feel the cold breath of Death as it wheezed once again down the back of his neck.

He heard the soft _swish _air as the first six traps simultaneously released their innards into the air towards his back. The first wave reached him, and it was Hades' own luck that his faithful Headcleaver was there to (7)block the initial barrage. The force of the senbon hitting his zanbato propelled him the last three feet to the door.

He was splayed against the front of the door, gasping harshly and damning anything and everything he could think of to hell.

Then there was a second hiss of air and there was no longer any time to think.

With a fumbling hand, he reached for the door handle, turning it, and fell inwards to the floor in his haste. He rolled over on his back and caught a glimpse of (9)what seemed like silver rain arcing towards him.

He screamed an inarticulate curse and slammed the door shut with his foot.

Exactly one second later, the door resembled a pincushion.

Noticing a tingling in his left shoulder, he turned his head and could only stare disgustedly at the sight of one lone senbon poking through his skin. His beloved sword hadn't been able to save him after all.

He rolled his head to stare at the ceiling and met the gaze of an equally amused and annoyed Kibinna Kiten who held an ANBU issue assassination sword loosely in his hand.

The old man smirked, much to Zabuza's irritation and asked, "I thought that you were dead. Guess I should have known better than to listen to civilian gossip."

(8)"The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated." The pained Mist nin ground out. He gritted his teeth even harder when the old man had the gall to laugh at that.

"Yes, well, I can see that Zabuza-kun."

A wave of darkness washed over Zabuza's vision. His body had somehow miraculously performed above and beyond the call of duty, but now it was clamoring for rest. The poison on the senbon was no doubt coursing through his veins at that very moment. But he had faith that the old man wouldn't just let him die. The last thing he could recall before darkness claimed him was his middle right finger raised in utter defiance and contempt at the old man. He damn well deserved that much for nearly killing him.

ß----------à

The blacksmith could only grin as he looked upon the still figure of Mamochi Zabuza.

He was quite surprised to find himself immensely glad that his good acquaintance was still alive. After that nasty business with that filthy Yakuza thug a few years ago, he was saddened to hear that many of the villagers had witnessed Zabuza's death. It was rumored that the foreign ninja in that conflict had even provided a decent burial for him, though none could ever find the grave.

His shook his head in rueful exasperation. He must be getting senile if he took stock in idle gossip. Zabuza was far too skilled to be offed by an enemy nin or two.

He reached down and hoisted Zabuza up with a small grunt of effort, throwing one of the limp man's arms around his shoulders.

"Come then, little Demon. Let's get you fixed up. The poison on that senbon is of my own mix and works quite quickly. The antidote is around here somewhere…." His voice trailed off into faint muttering as he dragged the younger man into his workroom. He failed to notice the faint shimmering that peeked shyly from the small pouch Zabuza had at the side of his hip as he released Headcleaver from its catch on the swordsman's back. It disappeared completely when a blanket was thrown over the cot prone form of the nin.

ß----------à

Quite a few streets away, Haku was in the midst of haggling determinedly with a middle aged woman who was asking far too much for a simple set of used shinobi robes, much like the ones she had worn when alive.

Her eyes glazed over in the middle of the woman's shrill tirade as a slight chill slithered down her spine. She shivered.

There was a pause in the conversation and an insincere, but sickeningly sweet, query to Haku's health.

She snapped out of her stupor.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine madam." She reassured the matron in that same sweet tone. "But you are quite mistaken if you think I am going to pay 3 ryo for that. For that price, I would expect your first born child into the mix."

The woman whined snottily, and the haggling continued.

Haku spared only a thought for her master, hoping that his old acquaintance had remained friendly after all these years. Shinobi became very suspicious when supposedly deceased comrades suddenly appeared on their doorstep after a number of years.

ß----------à

Deep in the Underworld, in the very center of the City of the Dead, one Morio Asaka was trying his damndest to imprint his forehead in the stone beneath him.

He was desperately trying to figure out a way to explain to Lord Hades _why_ he had failed to contact the two souls on the surface in regards to their mission.

It was basically his responsibility to inform all souls who were returning to the surface to perform a special service for the Shinigami how, when, and where to contact the Shinigami for their mission specifics. But he was still milking his 'injury' in the library for all it was worth from the pretty female medics, so he delegated that responsibility to one of his subordinates, as he often did.

Oh, how that lack wit son of a bitch was going to pay if he ever got out of this. He should have known that the dead last couldn't have handled even that simple of a task.

"_I am waiting, Captain Morio." _A sibilant hiss issued forth from the shroud of shadows sitting on the throne. _"I am very, **very** unhappy." _The trembling Shinigami flinched visibly. _"I cannot and will not tolerate a failure for this mission. If those foolish mortals on the surface were to find a way to harness the Great Fox...well. There is no need to get into that. Red Heaven indeed."_ The figure leaned forwards, leaning its chin nonchalantly into the palm of its hand. "Y_ou had better have a good excuse, Captain. It has been a long time since Hell was afforded a new Shinigami to entertain. I daresay the last one wore out long ago." _The voice chuckled raspily.

Morio swallowed heavily, the harsh sound echoing loudly in the stony expanse. He would have to talk fast. Thank kami that that happened to be one of his strengths.

"I-I offer my sincerest apologies, my Lord. There are no words in any language that can express my deepest sorrow……"

---------------------------------------------

**AN: The plot thickens. And yes, I lied. No actual meeting between the Shinigami, Haku, and Zabuza, but I promise you that it will happen one way or another next chapter. And by god, we're actually going to leave Wave country next chapter. I'm raring to go and start making my way to Fire country. Just to let you know in advance, I'm probably going to do some liberal screwing with the canon timeline to fit my version of events. Hopefully, it won't be too much, but we'll see. This chapter felt a little off pace, but I'll let you guys be the judge of that. My first try at action other than writing dialogue. Constructive criticism welcome. Also, enjoy the little tidbits I sprinkled through out the chappie. Answers are below.**

1)The hilt

The collar

The pommel

The hand guard

2) "Sakura", is the name of a traditional Japanese folk song depicting spring, the season of sakura. It's not really an ancient song per se, but I figured it would be a nice little cultural reference. It was first composed during the Edo period for children learning to play the koto. The lyrics translate to:

**Cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms,**

**The expanse of the spring sky**

**as far as I can see**

**Is it the mist, or else the clouds?**

**Their smell comes forth.**

**Now, now,**

**Let's go look at them!**

3) Seems that even Zabuza has some perverted tendencies. The popularity of Icha Icha transcends even death!

4) I'm almost willing to bet that all the Legendary Swordsmen of the Mist file their teeth as a sign of their status and rank. It's certainly fitting, for nin such as Zabuza and Kisame. The latest chapters of Shippuden only seem to support my theory.

5) A reference to Deidara's explosive clay. I don't think that Deidara's affinity to clay is a bloodline. Since he's from Iwa, and Kishimoto has not confirmed the bloodline as fact, I'm going to make the explosive clay available for the sake of the story. I personally believe that Deidara's version of the explosive clay is only a more convenient way for ninja to create explosives. I'm sure that regular people can make it, just not as fast as one with Deidara's ability could. Not sure if the name's right though. He may have just called it C2. I forget.

6) Do the math. You can easily figure out how far apart Zabuza estimates the traps are.

7) It wouldn't do for the "hero" to die so soon. And I'm pretty sure that Headcleaver was wide enough to do such a thing. Lucky for Zabuza that the senbon only had a narrow space to fly in. If he was in open ground, there was no way that even Headcleaver could have saved him.

8) Mark Twain at his finest.

9)Think of that last scene in Jet Li's 'Hero'. Second Best Death Scene Ever!


	6. Hellhounds for Hire part 4 Final

_**Dead On Arrival  
**_**A Xenocide Production**

**AN: Not as long as a wait as last time, I believe, but still fairly long. Formal apology, ritual suicide, etc., etc. Finally, we leave the Land of the Waves and start our journey! **

**Enjoy and review…..please?**

**Chapter Summary: **Bad things happen when a Demon smiles. Very, Very Bad Things.

**Disclaimer: Nothing witty this time. So sorry. I no own Nartuo.**

**--------------------------**

**Chapter Six: Hellhounds for Hire part 4 Final**

"I'm just saying, space is a waste, man." The guard manning the southern watchtower security station nodded sagely.

"……the hell does that mean, anyway?" The other guardsman was making a cursory sweep of the horizon with a pair of high-powered binoculars. Both were bored out of their skulls, but they knew better than to be lax in their duties.

It also helped their work ethics to know that the Godaime would personally skin them alive, stitch the skin back on, and then hand them over to Head of Intelligence Ibiki so he could have a turn.

The guard occupying the only chair in the tower swiveled around from the security console to face his partner. "It's a way of life, my friend." He raised his hands and gestured dramatically. "A religious doctrine meant to help one see the beauty of everyday life and decline to partake in the pleasures of one's carnal nature."

The binoculars made another sweep. "You're so full of shit. Kami, no wonder everyone practically pays me to switch shifts with them. You're an asshole."

Said asshole spasmed and clutched his hands to his chuunin vest, directly over his heart, and mimed an obviously very bloody chest injury. "You wound me, comrade! I try to share the wisdom of the ages to you, and you scorn me like so much dung on your sandals!" An agonized groan, grossly exaggerated. "The pain of being misunderstood is too much to bear."

"Yeah, yeah. Tell it someone who cares." He finished the last sweep and set the binoculars on the balcony railing. He turned and nodded at the cameras, studiously ignoring his partner's wounded looks and spasms. "Any activity?"

Playfulness forgotten for the moment, the other swiveled back to the monitors and made a few keystrokes, bringing up the last ten minutes of recorded activity five miles from Konohagakure's walls. "I've seen graveyards that are livelier than our neck of the woods." His fellow shinobi stood behind him, peering closely at the screen. "I'm telling you, you're not going to see anything." Another quick tap of the keyboard and the recording played through. "The last ten minutes have been clean, this ten minutes are going to be clean, and the next ten minutes are going to be clean. I've been thinking of suggesting that the recording times be extended to— " He stopped abruptly.

There was a tiny flicker at the bottom of the screen. Barely there. Ghosting stealthily underneath the camouflaged camera's range of vision.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look. He leaned forwards in his chair and tapped the dark blob on the screen. "What the fuck is that?"

His partner leaned over his shoulder, on hand on the back of the chair, studying the blob. "Back it up a frame or two. Try to zoom in if you can."

Furious tapping on the keyboard. The screen flickered, then showed a slightly more defined, but still hard to see, shape. "That's the most the camera ever saw of…whatever it is."

"No zoom?"

The chuunin shook his head. "Sorry. We still haven't gotten the new ones installed yet. North and East watchtowers got first priority. We're not near as important as the towers near the gates and the site of the last invasion." The image sharpened, and became more defined. "I can do that for you, but that's it. We're lucky that we're even seeing this much."

A hand reached over the chuunin's shoulder and thoughtfully traced the image. "Any thoughts? I sure as hell don't know what it is."

The seated shinobi furrowed his brow in thought. "If I had to guess, I'd say it's a wolf, or maybe even a bear. If you look closely, you'll see that most of the blob looks like is has fur." He pointed to a small extension to what they cautiously labeled a head. "And I would swear on my stash of Icha Icha that that's an ear." He turned and looked up at his partner. "You think we should report this? Even if we aren't sure what the hell it is, I'd hate to have Ibiki-taishou find out we failed to report even the smallest thing. You know how he gets."

"At the very least, we might as well let them know a large animal is in the vicinity." He reached down and picked up the small phone on the console. "Besides, it's heading towards Training Ground Three and Eleven. Some genin may be out there."

The other snorted, turning back to his station. "Even the weakest of genin should be able to handle a wild beast. A well placed kunai is more than enough to stop something like that."

The other nodded absentmindedly. "You're right, but still—oh, hello? Yes, this is Issun from the Southern tower. No, no—nothing important. Just wanted to report a sighting of a large animal of some sort last seen heading towards Training Grounds Three and Eleven." A pause. "Yes, I understand that, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. My little sister graduated from the Academy last month, you know." Another pause. "I think that would be wise. Thank you, and have whoever you send notify all Cell leaders in the area." He hung up the phone.

"I take it they were annoyed with you?" The chuunin was back to watching the monitors closely.

"A little, but they did say they would send someone to check it out. Not all genin are talented enough to take care of themselves yet." He stalked back over to the binoculars.

"Sure, whatever."

A beat.

His voice drifted innocently to the man on the balcony. "Did I ever mention that time is a crime?"

"If you don't shut your mouth, I'll make sure that you get paired with that giddy little Gai Clone next watch shift."

A crash from inside of the tower and a gasp of sheer terror. "You bastard! You wouldn't!"

"Just try me." A small smile made its way to his face as he scanned the horizon once again.

"Yes, yes. Fine. Whatever you want." He went meekly to his task, resolving to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the shift. No amount of pleasure derived from torturing his partner could possibly compare to the hell he would endure if he were to be stuck on an eight hour shift with the little green schizo.

Their watch continued, all thought and worry of the small blur on the computer screen forgotten.

---------

A loud boom shattered the stillness and a large cloud of smoke billowed from the center of Training Ground Three.

"Oh, come on! You guys can do better than that!" The smoke parted briefly as a lean form erupted from its depths, landing in a backwards sliding crouch, facing the smoke. The boy sported blonde, spiky hair, cerulean eyes that were wide with merriment, and an unusual uniform of orange and black.

Silence.

He cocked his head, eerily reminiscent of a predator stalking its prey, and listened carefully. A bird cooed in the distance. An intelligible shout from a nearby training ground. The wind whistled quietly as it gently blew away the remains of the smoke, revealing a scorched patch of earth.

All was quiet. But still, he listened. Patience was something that he was not fond of, but he had come to recognize its uses in battle.

_Snickt_

He grinned.

They were good, but not near good enough.

He ducked, crouching low to ground, and felt the cool kiss of a blade neatly shear off a few locks of his golden hair.

He planted his hands on the dusty ground, swiveling his hips to the side, and knocked the boy behind him to the ground with a sweeping kick.

A loud "Oof!" forced its way from the boy's lips as his back crashed into the ground with a cloud of dust.

Rolling smoothly with the inertia of his kick, he rose nimbly to his feet, a kunai already in hand to meet the brace of shuriken floating towards his neck and torso. With a few simple flicks of the wrist, he deflected them to either side of him with appalling ease, careful not to let any of them hit the boy struggling to his feet behind him.

Reversing his grip on the cloth handle, he tossed the kunai in the general direction of the origin of the shuriken, somewhere in the shadows of the trees, and was rewarded with a girlish shriek of dismay.

Another boy suddenly zipped from cover of the bushes, scarf fluttering in the wind, launching himself in a flip over the blonde's head, throwing two kunai with fluttering strips of paper attached to the handle at the blonde's feet at the zenith of his jump.

He landed solidly on his feet, and instead of rushing to face his opponent, he whirled and dashed for his teammate, yanking him by the elbow and disappearing into the woods yet again.

The older boy took half a step in their direction, before a soft sizzling sound caught his attention. He looked down at the two kunai and was dismayed to see two explosive notes fizzing merrily to combustion.

"Shitness Omega!" His eyes popped comically and he scrambled to launch himself to the tree line and safety.

Too little, too late. With a dull roar, the notes ignited in a blaze of flame and suffocating smoke.

Already in midair, he was thrown head over heels until his flight was arrested by the comforting embrace of a tree trunk.

He leaned against the trunk, stunned by the impact and covered in soot. He shook his head, and his vision cleared just in time to see a kunai heading directly for his crotch. He threw himself back against the truck, scooting his bottom back just enough to let the tip of the kunai graze the seam of his pants as it buried itself up to the hilt in the rich loam.

He sighed loudly, then looked up into the trees and yelled, "Dammit, Moegi! That was uncalled for!"

A thirteen year old girl, deep auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail instead her trademark pigtails, dropped down onto a nearby branch. "What's the matter, onii-chan? Can't take a bit of your own medicine?" She wagged her finger impishly. "Don't dish out what you can't take."

The blonde snarled, intent on retorting, but whatever foul curse he was intent on uttering was interrupted when two other boys popped into view, one sporting a cracked lens on his glasses, the other walking with a slight limp, and both covered in cuts and bruises.

He gaped at them, then pointed at the limping boy, proclaiming with a wounded air, "Konohamaru! How could you betray me like that!? I thought we agreed on no explosive seals!"

The grandson of the Sandaime Hokage glared at the furious boy. "And _I_ thought that we agreed on no _**Kage Bunshin**_. You cheated!" He glanced back at the boy behind him, who was rubbing his backside and grumbling under his breath. "Right, Udon?"

All he got was a grumble. He took that as an affirmative.

He turned back to the blonde, who was standing up after delicately removing the razor sharp blade from in between his legs. "Hey, I never said that!"

He tossed the kunai at Moegi, who had jumped down from her limb to join her teammates. She returned it to her thigh holster with a smug grin on her face. He scratched the back of his head as he faced his younger comrades. "Or did I? I don't remember. I was too busy kicking your asses!" He laughed brightly, enjoying the looks of frustration on their faces.

"Naruto-niichan, you liar!" Moegi pointed an accusing finger. "I thought you were going to actually _teach_ us something." She huffed haughtily.

Udon added in a sour voice, "If we don't impress Ebisu-sensei, he won't let us participate in the Chuunin Exams."

Konohamaru nodded in agreement. "That's why we wanted you to spar with us, not treat us like a bunch of little kids!"

Naruto grinned foxily. "Oi, I thought you guys _were_ a bunch of little kids. Only idiots would believe in an agreement to hold back in a fight." He turned his back on them, arms folded across his chest. "Besides, you guys are too young anyways."

"But aniiki," Moegi whined, "you and the other Rookie Nine signed up the first year out of the academy!"

"And only Shikamaru earned the rank." He retorted. "The rest of us, even Neji, remained genin." He shook his head. "No, you guys need another year at the very least. Listen to your sensei. The closet pervert occasionally knows what he's talking about."

The Konohamaru Corps fumed in silence, but didn't say anything. They knew it was useless to try and change Naruto's mind when he decided on a course of action. A stone could take lessons on being stubborn from the blonde.

He turned around, clapping his hands together.

"Don't look so down, guys!" He hated to disappoint his friends, but he didn't want them so eager to repeat his team's past mistakes. If Kakashi-sensei had decided to let his team wait a year, like Gai-sensei had, before entering them in the exams, then maybe things would have been a little different.

But, there was no sense in going down that road. All he could do was try to help them as he thought best.

"Easier said than done." Kohonamaru muttered peevishly.

Naruto's eye ticked in irritation. They weren't even trying to understand it from his point of view, the little bastards!

He forced another grin on his face, though it was not quite as wide or cheerful as the last one. "If I treat you guys to some ramen, will you stop whining?"

All three of the Corps perked up at the mention of free food. In the back of his mind, Naruto could almost hear the pained wails of poor, poor Gama-chan. He winced at the thought of how his beloved wallet would suffer, but then shrugged it off. Money was still a little tight these days, but his friends were more than worth it.

He turned and started heading in the general direction of the village, a spring in his step at the thought of a steaming bowl of ramen waiting for him. Scratch that, make it a few dozen bowls. He was a growing boy, after all. "Come on then, you brats. Old Man Ichiraku will make it all better, I prom—"

Something exploded from the bushes and slammed into him with a roar, knocking him into the dense undergrowth before he could make a sound.

Moegi shrieked, Konohamru shouted his rival's name, and Udon could only gape in astonishment at the spot where their friend had stood not a split second earlier.

---------

They both hit the ground in a tumble, flailing limbs, both human and otherwise, punctuated by throaty snarls and incoherent shouting. Somehow, they ended up rolling down a steep incline, and Naruto could only curse himself for not sensing the thing before it struck. How many times had Ero-sennin lectured him on his situational awareness? As much as it galled him to admit it, he would have to apologize to the old pervert for ignoring so many of his rants.

If he survived, that is.

It was only by sheer dumb luck that he managed to vault the thing off of him with both feet planted in its stomach. With a discordant howl, it sailed through the air and landed back first against a gnarled oak tree. It yelped in pain and surprise, obviously not expecting such furious resistance.

Disoriented and slightly dizzy, Naruto stumbled to his feet, shakily drawing his only spare kunai, the rest having been used in his spar with Konohamaru and company. He finally got a good look at what had attacked him out of the blue.

He really wished that he hadn't.

It was a wolf. And not just any wolf, either, but one of the mountain wolves said to inhabit the far reaches of the Spine of the World. Many were said to reach the size of a warhorse, and while this wolf was no giant, at was certainly large enough to _take down_ a warhorse.

What the fuck was it doing so far south?

Konoha barely had any native wolves left, so to see one was a rarity indeed. And no one could recall the last time a wolf _ever_ attacked a fully capable ninja in broad daylight. It just didn't happen.

The wolf regained its footing, shaking its head as if to clear a few cobwebs. When its gaze found him again, it growled deep in its throat and stalked slowly into a patch of sunlight that had squeezed through the gap of the forest canopy.

_That's funny. I've never seen wolves with white markings like that. _

He squinted his eyes, hoping to get some better clarity. The wolf took a few more cautious steps forward, growling all the while.

A foul stench, a sickeningly sweet smell that spoke of rotted things and dark secrets buried in deep places of the world, assaulted his nostrils.

Bile rose in the back of his throat, and it was all he could do not to fall to his knees and lose his breakfast. He swallowed, and breathed through his mouth, cutting down on the smell somewhat.

_What the hell kind of wolf is this?_

The wolf bared its teeth and sprang into the air, racing towards him with great bounding leaps that no ordinary wolf was capable of. He froze for one spilt second, then his body's instincts kicked in, and without conscious thought, he flipped the kunai over his hand once, catching it by the blade, and then hurling it with deadly accuracy at the wolf's throat.

The air shimmered slightly around the wolf. With a twisting motion that defied the laws of physics, it dodged the kunai in midleap.

His jaw was dangerously close to unhingeing itself/

_Now that's just not cool._

He dove forward, rolling underneath the wolf just as it landed where he had been standing. He came to his feet and pivoted to face the wolf, just in time to have it meet him with jaws snapping around his throat.

His eyes widened as the wolf drove him into the ground. The smell of death permeated his senses, and he gagged in horror. He thrashed wildly, groping for purchase around the wolf's scraggly pelt, but it was to no avail. With a victorious shriek, it tore his throat out.

_**PHOOMPH!**_

The wolf's teeth clacked harshly around a cloud of white smoke. It whined in confusion, and turned its head from side to side, hoping to catch a glimpse of its prey. It had only had its back turned for a moment, when it had landed on the spot that previously was occupied by its prey. How had the boy managed to move so fast?

"OI! BASTARD WOLF! UP HERE!"

It looked up, and snarled to see the boy, correction—make that _two_ boys, holding a small whirling maelstrom of blue energy. One boy was using both hands to make swirling motions over the palm of the other, further feeding the ball of destruction in Naruto's hand.

With a small salute, one Naruto disappeared in a puff of white smoke, and the original Naruto was left looking down on the beastie, a feral grin on his face.

"LET'S SEE YOU DODGE THIS!"

The wolf crouched down on its haunches, bunching its muscles. With a howl of rage, it leapt straight up to Naruto's position on the tree branch, almost seeming to soar.

Naruto spared only one second to marvel at the impossible strength of the wolf. He was at least a hundred feet up, and yet there it was, already halfway to the branch.

"RAGH!!"

With a hoarse battle cry, he launched himself with unerring accuracy towards the howling wolf.

In the moment before they met, the wolf locked gazes with him. It almost seemed to laugh at him with bloodless lips pulled taunt over jaws opened wide, and he glared back, baring his teeth in a fine show of defiance. But….the milky white eyes, clouded over lifelessly—they strobed—

—_**RED—BLOOD—CRIMSON—DEATH—**_

Naruto's own eyes flashed **RED**, and his world teetered crazily on the razor edge of sanity and reason.

He blinked—

—and the Rasengan was ripping the wolf in half, the eyes no longer red, but lifeless and dull.

He blinked, and he was falling— falling lazily to the ground beneath him, much as a feather would float to the earth in the arms of a gentle breeze. Time slowed to a crawl, and bits of white bone, decaying skin, and rotting entrails fell around him in a grim parody of a summer downpour.

Then the earth was suddenly there, and he could see every individual blade of grass, every insect crawling in the dirt, and every stone that creaked and groaned in the silence of the secretive forest.

He closed his eyes and knew no more.

---------

_**Pl-Plop**_

_He lived in nothingness._

_**Pl-Plop**_

_There was nothing, and yet, there was everything. He was surrounded by a boundless chasm, and bound tightly in a gilded cage._

_**Pl-Plop**_

_It was a paradox, one that would have surely driven him mad long ago, had he not locked that irrational part of himself deep within the confines of his own psyche. He suspected that he was slightly insane, but there was no way to tell. _

_**Pl-Plop**_

_Besides, who cares if he went batshit crazy? It's not like he had to worry about anybody else in this hellsforsaken place. For fifteen years, he had been trapped in this cursed existence, doomed to suffer the trials of mortality with his pitiful "container". There were times where he seriously considered burning out his own lifeforce in an attempt to overwhelm the seal that bound him to his wretched prison. _

_**Pl-Plop**_

_To relieve the monotony of his existence, he occasionally suffered the presence of his 'container', taking great pleasure in reminding the pitiful worm just how lowly he was compared to the Great Lord of the Nine Circles of Hell. It amused him to see how the mortal wielded his power, a pindrop in a vast ocean of crimson, though it was. _

_**Pl-Plop**_

_Though nowadays, the brat was far more careful as to how often he utilized the demon's power. But no matter. Whenever he used the crimson power, he gained a small foothold over the boy's mind and heart. Eventually, he would have enough of an influence over the boy to completely wrest control from him, obliterating his tiny consciousness from existence. It would then be a simple matter of personally removing the seal from the brat's body. Preferably in a way that left entrails and inner organs sprawled over a mile wide blast radius._

_Or at least, that was the plan._

_**Pl-Plop**_

_And so, he waited, exercising his enormous patience, and ignoring that yammering, slobbering voice in the back if his mind that grew a little louder each day._

_Silence._

_An ear perked up in interest._

_His prison was dead silent. The soft pattering of water falling from some unknown height to the floor had suddenly disappeared. _

_Curious, very curious._

_The brat, in his occasional visits and demands for power, was annoyingly loud. His voice usually echoed crazily in the vast confines of his cramped cage. _

"_It**clckt** pains me to**clcktt clckt**, see thee in such**sncckkt** dire straits, my lord**clcKKt**."_

_The Kyuubi's massive eye opened, and scrutinized his visitor._

_A figure was kneeling in front of the caged door, right knee and right fist bent in supplication. Its head was bowed in respect, and stringy, greasy black hair haloed its face._

"_**IT HAS BEEN FAR TOO LONG, CYNDER."**_

_With that acknowledgement, the demon known as Cynder rose from his kneeling position, revealing a rickety frame, angular and twisted in a cruel mockery of the human form. He had been born from the sinister fumes of Hell's deepest fiery chasms and the mingled blood of thousands of hellspawn as it seeped down from the eternal slaughter on the plains of Tartarus._

_What evil magic had given him life? What cruel fate had deigned that such a twisted should should come into being? None knew of his purpose in living, and none cared. Thus, he was born of fire, hate, and bloodshed._

_His first conscious memory consisted of keening screams of agony, as he relieved the death of all the demons whose blood now flowed sluggishly through his veins._

_Servile and wretched, he had been shunned for the first few centuries of his existence, living on the scraps of his betters. Only the whim of the savage demons kept him from a prolonged and gruesome death by torture._

_It was Kyuubi, one of the Great Lords of Hell, that had seen the hidden potential in the thing that all laughed at and none pitied._

_He took the crooked being into his fold, gifting him with a crude form of speech and placing him under his protection. He had bound Cynder as his vassal, who, in return, promised the Fox undying gratitude and eternal loyalty to the only being that had showed him a hint of respect._

_And so, he became the Kyuubi's tool, spying on his enemies from the shadows and disposing of those who would dare oppose his power._

"_My**hycktt** life to ser**cckt**ve, O Lord of **hchck**Dark Flame."_

"_**I CONFESS, I AM QUITE CURIOUS AS TO HOW YOU GAINED ENTRANCE TO MY HUMBLE PRISON." **__A furred lip curled disdainfully. __**" NOT TO MENTION HOW YOU MANAGED TO SINGLE OUT MY CONTAINER."**_

"_It was **schnnkt**no mean feat, my**hcck** lord. What little information **ahhncckt** I had I stole by creeping**kckt** into the very Halls of **hnnkct**Lord Hades' library." He took a gasping, wheezing breath. " All that was mentio**hcckt**ned of thy disappearance **hkkct** was the name of the**hnntck** Shinigami who sealed thee**snckct** and the location of thy **hck**demise." _

_Another wheeze. "I h**nnhck**ave spent nearly two decades**nhcht** searching for a **kcttck**hint of the bon**ahntckt**d that I share with**cktt** thee as thine **hcckt**servant. I have kept**clckt** one ear in Hell and**shnckkt** the other in the mortal**ckt** realm, hoping for a sign of **httck**thine whereabouts. I only recently heard**hrckct** rumors of a warrior from K**rtckt**onohagakure who fought with**cktck **the ferocity of a demon, a crimson**cryckt** aura that struck one dumb when facing**ahcnkt** him."_

_He grinned viciously. "It was all**hcckt **too easy to **scnnckt**possess a dead beast**htck **and stage an attac**ckktk**. No doubt he has**hcacckt** learned the trut**ntckt**h by now. The fool looked**ckktck** into my eyes."_

"_**VERY CLEVER, CHILD."**_

_Cynder bowed his head in pleasure. It was not very often you heard any sort of praise from the Demon Lord._

"_**YOU SHALL BE REWARDED WHEN I AM FREE FROM THIS DAMNABLE PRISON."**_

_Cynder looked up at his Lord and Master, and smiled a deep, soul chilling smile._

"_I bring you**hcckt** interesting news from thes**nnckt **Dead City, my Lord. Hades has sent**hkctk** a pair of souls**hcnkct** to the surface. He has**nnktc** given them a target**kcnt** to eliminate. They are drawing**hnnckt **closer to us as**hnkctk **I speak."_

_Kyuubi's fangs were bared in a smile. _

_Bad things happen when a Demon smiles._

_Very, Very Bad Things._

---------

Across a continent and an ocean, two mortals, newly resurrected from death, were both peering intently into a small hand mirror, while the cherry red glow of a forge casting their shadows into wide, fluttery shapes on the wall behind them.

Rings of steel against steel resounded in the background.

And most importantly, two yellow eyes watched them from the shadows of the ceiling beams.

It would wait until the time was right to strike.

Unlike most of its kind, it had learned that patience and careful study of one's prey made it all the more easier to feel the crunch of bones underneath its feet and the trickle of blood down its throat.

Yes………it would wait. Its master would be quite displeased if it botched the job now.

Two yellow eyes gleamed, a hammer rang against the anvil, and voices murmured gently from the mirror.

It would wait.

_---------------------------_

**AN: We did actually leave Wave Country and focused on our hero for once. Amazing, no? Here we see the emergence of the "PLOT" (registered trademark) and another action scene, hopefully better than the last one. Enjoy the tidbits and hints below and tell me your thoughts.**

"**Space is a Waste" and "Time is a Crime" are registered trademarks of ****Post****, the insanely gifted author who writes for the Teen Titans fandom. Go read his stuff. Now.**

**The Spine of the World refers to a mountain range found in Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series.**

**The markings become important later on.**

**The Nine Circles of Hell refer to "Dante's Inferno".**

**The eyes are the window to the soul, don't you know? Eye contact with demons is very, very bad thing. Remember that.**

**Those freaky sounds that Cynder makes? Ever seen "Mimic"? Very similar to that. **

**Is there, perhaps, a third party who has interest in the Great Fox?**


	7. Belly of the Beast

_**Dead On Arrival  
**_**A Xenocide Production**

**AN: Hey there guys. After a particularly scathing, but correct review, of the previous version of DOA, I decided to take it down and work on it some more. I would like to thank that anonymous reviewer who went out of their way to point out that I was no longer taking this fic seriously. Hopefully the changes in this new version will convince my readers that I still want to finish this fic, though it might take me 5 years to do it at this rate. --**

**Enjoy and review…..please?**

**Chapter Summary: **

**Disclaimer: The Daily Bugle Headline: "Fanfic Author Does Not Own Naruto! Hangs Self in Protest!"**

**Chapter Seven: Belly of the Beast**

* * *

The night was still.

Silvery white fog ghosted through the near empty streets of the once lively shopping arcade. It whispered into every nook and cranny that it could find, inexorable and all encompassing. It filtered into the city from the docks, as though the very sea itself had sent tendrils of its soul onto the land.

Stalls were empty, doors were bolted, and refuse from the day's transactions littered the cobbled street.

Darkness had somehow taken over, whilst the people had quietly drifted away in the tide of the day, gravitating to the warmth of their homes and the safety of the hearth.

Down a ways from the docks, in the more prosperous parts of the port, there was a pub. It had a homely look about it, and it just so happened to be the only pub on the capital island of Wave Country that was for sailors only. The Leviathan, it was called, and a crudely etched eye adorned the wooden sign that hung sullenly above the door. Warm light spilled out from the windows, and raucous laughter to coarse jokes could be heard even through the thick stone walls.

Inside, a roaring fire and endless supply of sake was more than enough to ward away the chill of the night.

"—and then 'e says, 'I'd sell me own mother for a bit of that codpiece!'"

A ragged chorus of laughter erupted from the bar.

As per usual at eventide, all of the sailors on shore leave, in addition to a good deal of former seamen, had gathered in The Leviathan. It was a cozy little place, full of old knickknacks and souvenirs that sailors had picked up in their travels over the years. There was the piece of the Kraken's skull, one of a million pieces that old, drunken Nagi claimed to have stashed in his house. Worth a fortune, they were. They all patronized the old man, but it was still nice to have something to remember the old tales by. And there was a weathered cutlass hung gallantly over the mantle of the fireplace, a heirloom of the days before the formation of the Elemental Countries, when Corsairs roamed the islands and the cutlass was much preferred over the kunai. Bits of colorful glass and other assorted baubles hung around the candles and small chandeliers, showering the patrons with a flash of color from time to time.

Unlike many other pubs in the area, The Leviathan was not an institution of ill repute. Despite the fact that it catered to a much rougher clientele than your average citizen, the pub had always maintained a respectable look and reputation, though it was still not exactly a place you would want to bring kids or your lady to.

The Leviathan had a code, unwritten though it was, and woe betides the sailor or greenhorn guppie that broke it. The owner, a jolly, rotund old man by the name of Marui, had come up with a very simple set of rules.

One: Leave your problems at the door. Life's shitty enough without having to listen to someone whine about it.

Two: Pubs are for getting drunk, plain and simple.

Three: The first punch you throw gets you a beating. The second gets you blacklisted. And there had better damn well not be a third.

Most everyone agreed that those three simple rules had contributed to The Leviathan's success. Of course, you had a few dissenters that tried to test the pub owner's patience every now and then, but for the most part, Marui never had any trouble out of his patrons. Sure, they were a rowdy and rough bunch, with a mouth on them that would make their own mothers roll in their grave, but they were a decent sort, the kind of sailors that Marui was proud to have frequent his establishment.

Marui ran a quick eye over the crowd, smiling at old Kobu's storytelling antics and his racy jokes.

He noted the few loners, the ones who hunched over their drink as if to protect it from those who would snatch it from their grasp. One such figure was sitting at the end of the bar, a delicate hand, peeking slightly out of the voluminous sleeve of a hooded cloak, curled slightly around a small shot of weak sake. He furrowed his eyebrows in thought as he watched the hooded figure demurely take a sip. A slight frown marred his jolly visage as he considered the only loner of this evening's group.

She had arrived earlier in the evening, around six or so, and planted herself in a seat away from the usual crowd.

It wasn't that he disapproved of a girl coming into a pub. Not at all, as a matter of fact. He knew that a woman could be very capable of taking care of herself. He had a few scars from his youth to prove it. No, the only thing that worried him was the trouble it could possibly cause. There were a lot of guppies just back from their first trade run, and they were cocky and sure of themselves to the point of arrogance. Six months at sea had also whetted their appetite for a lady's company, though the ladies in question were far from deserving of the title. If they were to become interested in the only female in the room, then trouble would appear faster than a case of Concubine's Blessing.

She had just been sitting there for the last hour or so, obviously waiting for someone, but it seemed she had been stood up.

Marui was a good man, and an all around nice guy, but he had to get rid of that girl before she caused any trouble. He had a track record of twenty years without an all out brawl wrecking his pub. He intended to keep it that way. Grabbing a small bottle of cold sake, he ambled down towards the far end of the bar, nodding to his patrons and promising extra rounds in just a minute, if only they could wait one bleedin' moment!

He stopped in front of the girl and poured a small amount of the small of sake into her glass. She looked up at him, smiled a gentle smile, and Marui's breath was stolen away by the girl's beauty. Pale, alabaster skin, wide, mournful dark eyes, flowing dark locks, and a smile that would make Kami-sama melt on the spot and offer her heaven and earth in a neat little bundle.

Oh, she would be trouble all right.

He shook his head slightly, as if to clear the haze of her beauty from his mind, and queried in his warmest voice, "What do a pretty little thing like you be doin' in a rowdy place like this? This no be a place for a lady."

She laughed lightly, a silvery laugh that belonged to the wind or some such deity, and answered amusedly, "A lady? I suppose I am at that. If you must know, I've been waiting for someone for quite a while now." She paused and a slightly anxious look marred her beautiful features. "I'm starting to get worried. He has never been this late before."

The barkeep scowled. What kind of a man left a girl in a place like this? Even if she could defend herself, it was the principle of the thing!

"Perhaps that man of yours needs a bit o' sense beaten into him. If you were mine, I would no leave you in a strange bar that do be filled with rough men."

The girl waved her hand demurely as a light blush suffused her cheeks. "Oh, it's not like that at all! I am his apprentice and he is my master. He was visiting an old friend while I was gathering supplies for our next voyage." She glanced at the door for a moment, as if hoping to see whoever she was meeting stride through. "We were supposed to meet here at six which was a good—"

"Hour ago, if my clock do be accurate."

He leaned slightly towards the girl, beckoning her closer. "I do hate to be rude, miss," he whispered hoarsely, "but I'm afraid you cannae stay here much longer. The night crowd do be beginning to trickle in, and most of 'em are just brainless guppies who don't know how to act around a lady."

The girl sighed sadly, and it was all he could do not to grab her by the shoulders and promise her the moon if only she would be happy!

He blinked.

That would be bad thing on a list of many other bad things. His wife being at the top of that list.

"At least let me have another fifteen minutes." Her eyes had somehow turned into raging whirlpools of sorrow and despair. The pitiful look on her face was enough to melt even an Iwa nin's heart into a gooey puddle. "Then I promise I'll leave."

Marui nearly staggered under the weight of her doleful gaze, barely registering his surroundings, his entire being focused on the rapturously beautiful girl that was near to tears because of him.

"Ah! Well—yes, of course—no troub—stay as long as you like—yes!"

The poor man could barely get out a coherent sentence as he hastily tried to reassure the girl that she could stay as long as she liked. Flustered and out of sorts, the bartender awkwardly took his leave, leaving behind the small bottle of sake in his haste to return to his clamoring customers. A few of the raunchier sailors took note of his complexion and called out a few lewd suggestions as to where he got the blush that suffused his cheeks.

Marui's cheeks darkened, but not from embarrassment. "Ye bloody bilge rats! I'll toss you out on your arse, if I do be hearing you say such slander again!"

The men clustered at the bar and the nearest table roared in amusement, laughing at the misfortune of their jolly patron, and turned back to their drinks and jokes, unwilling to risk Marui's wrath.

Haku shook her head in belated amusement, then anxiety stole over her features once again as she shot a glance at the door, hoping against hope that Zabuza would walk through, a smirk on his face and a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Disappointed, she turned her gaze back to her drink, half-heartedly sipping the rough alcohol and grimacing slightly at the taste of it.

"I am going to _kill_ that man when I see him!" She muttered darkly to herself. "Really, are all men so inconsiderate? I only ask that he be in place on time, and what does he do!? He—"

A beat.

Then, a horrified expression comes over her face. "Oh, gods! Now I'm even starting to _think_ like a woman!"

Haku buried her face into the folded sleeves of her robe on top of the slightly dirty countertop and proceeded to groan as if she were in immense agony. Which in a way, she was. He was. Whatever. The strain of her recent gender-bender—and here she shuddered to realize that such a crude name for a misfortunate happening actually applied to her. Him. Aw, fuck it—had finally caused a slight crack in her façade of propriety, and damned if she wasn't going to enjoy her last fifteen minutes in this smelly little pub.

She propped her chin up in the palm of her left hand and proceeded to mockingly toast her current fortune. "To the Underworld and its infallible reputation as being unerringly efficient and omnipresent." She downed another gulp of the torrid grog and noted in annoyance how full the cup still was. She offered up another toast of praise. "To Zabuza-sama and his damningly infuriating tendency to get me in deep, deep shit." She downed the rest of her sake in one fluid motion, hardly noticing the foul taste that time.

Haku's cheeks were slightly pink, partly from the intake such a large amount of alcohol, of which she was not used to in the least, and her loose tongue, which before that very moment had been unsullied by curses of any sort. Had Zabuza been present, he most likely would have been amused at how quickly Haku had lost her sobriety, and shocked at finding Haku even drinking in the first place. But Haku didn't care how Zabuza might have viewed her in that very instant. She was, for the time being, a teenage girl. And damned if her hormones and girly tendencies were going to act accordingly.

His hormones.

……fuck it all.

She grabbed the sake bottle Marui left behind and filled her cup up. She had approximately twelve minutes left before she had promised to leave the Leviathan. She planned to get as drunk as humanly possible before then.

--

Zabuza rotated his shoulder blade stiffly as he slowly meandered his way out of the alley that led to the back Kibinna-jiji's workshop. He still couldn't believe that he was up on his feet so quickly after having been administered the antidote for poison on the ex-ANBU's modest home security system.

Zabuza snorted indelicately as he rounded the corner and started down the deserted street. Home security system? What a load of bullshit! He'd seen less fancy contraptions built into a Hokage's formal Antechamber.

The old man's poison rivaled some of the most terrifying shit he'd come across in Kusagakure, and that was most definitely saying something. Kusa-nin were sadistic bastards, and they had concocted to date approximately 684 different poisons, each with their own symptoms, mode of death, and delivery system. Foreigners had a nasty habit of dropping dead in midstep or in the process of lifting a bite full of food to their mouths. He had been careful to remind Haku to always prepare a day or so amount of food if ever they passed through.

If he were a believer, he'd be thanking Kami-sama this very moment for the old man's foresight to cook up some antidote. Otherwise, he'd be back in the Underworld for Round Two, and most likely another two and a half years of waiting until he could explain how the hell he managed to snuffed out by an old man and his toys. Gods, the humiliation!

Kicking an empty sardine can down the cobbled way, he wondered wryly how could he be an atheist if the very existence of an Underworld, complete with spineless Shinigami and Lord Hades himself, had been proven to him? Even now, he couldn't bring himself to truly believe in the existence of a Heaven and a Hell.

Ninja for the most part did not indulge in religious practices, mainly because part of their training actively discouraged anything that would hinder a young shinobi's molding into a cold, calculating killer. His sword, and the blood it spilt, was really the only thing he believed in. And Haku, who had been there for almost longer than he cared to remember, his willing tool of death.

Zabuza chuckled hoarsely to himself. Honestly, the only reason he was going through all this trouble was for his ward. Haku was still so naïve to the ways of the world, err—the Underworld now, he supposed. Without Zabuza there to take care of the brat, no doubt Haku would let himself become a doormat for those sodding poofs up in those poofy clouds of theirs. And it really would be quite troublesome to have to fight his way out of Hell, if such a place really existed.

It was a conundrum. He was skeptical of the existence of fiery damnation and poofy salvation, even when faced with the undeniable reality of a middle ground between the two, especially since he was running an errand for the Lord of said middle ground, yet he was fighting for the supposed salvation of his soul, if only to make sure that he could keep an eye out for the kid. It was an extremely confusing situation for the missing Mist-nin. Best to focus on one thing at a time. He could sort out his evangelical preferences later, if he had any. He almost had half a mind to kick this Hades guy's ass, just for making him expend so much energy. He was supposed to be dead, for Kami's sake! Being dead involved a nice nap under the earth, and seventy nubile virgins to tend to your every whim. Or at least, that's what that guy in the turban had said.

He shook his head. It was kind of sad that his death was more exciting than his life.

He turned in the vague direction of the waterfront, still rotating his shoulder unconsciously, trying to loose some of the stiffness. That antidote had worked with surprising swiftness, reducing his coma-like state to mere drowsiness and burning away the excess poison in his veins to nothingness in mere minutes.

Truth be told, even Kibinna-jiji seemed to be surprised that the antidote worked so quickly. The last person he'd tested the poison out on had taken a week to recover, and even then the man could hardly stand without feeling light headed and slightly dizzy. Was this the power of an Underworld replica? Or whatever the hell they called it?

He smirked in a thoughtful manner. This might have some interesting impact on his battle strategy. If he had an accelerated healing factor, how much damage could he take in the line of fire before he had to worry about permanent damage? Not even the mighty Copy Nin Kakashi could take him out if his body was damn near immortal!

Accelerated healing. Those words latched onto the forefront of his thoughts and seemed to niggle in irritation there. Why did that sound familiar? Did it have something to do with the Kyuubi? Or was it the demon's container? He had a feeling that there was something, not terribly important in of itself, but something that was a small part of the puzzle, something that would make this assassination of theirs that much harder if he couldn't figure it out.

The sound of faint cheering reached his ears, and he absentmindedly adjusted his course to take him closer to it, and incidentally, to the pub where he was definitely late to meet Haku.

His steps faltered and he paled. Oh, shit! Just how late was it, anyway? He looked up at the stars, and with a drain of color, noted it to be roughly one hour after his promised meeting time with Haku. If there was one thing that she (thank Kami he'd finally gotten in the habit of using the right pronoun) hated, it was tardiness. That was one thing he had never had to drill her in during her entire apprenticeship with him. Haku was almost a clock herself, and it more than irritated her whenever he was not punctual. The last time he had been late to a meeting in the market with her had almost traumatized him. The cold stares and suspiciously ill prepared meals for almost two weeks after the incident gave him more than enough incentive never to do it again.

And now that Haku was a woman? His heart clenched and then dived for relative safety in his stomach. This was going to be worse than the time he took Haku to the Red Light district.

Fear giving him the energy and strength to ignore his still sore shoulder and slightly wobbly legs, he dashed for the location of the pub, guided by the raucous din that no doubt belied a gathering of salty old sea dogs in a place like the Leviathan. He rounded a corner frantically, just barely clearing a rubbish heap, then raced down the street until he sighted the peeling and faded sign of the Leviathan.

He halted in front of the door, the noise near to deafening at this point. Swallowing his nervousness, he opened the door, preparing himself for a long lecture and the Silent Treatment afterwards.

The sound of merriment was almost a tangible slap in the face as he quickly stepped in and shut the door. A few men turned around and noted with disdain his dirty clothing, but then turned back to the source of their entertainment. There was a crowd of men in front of the hearth in the far corner, clapping loudly to a light sea chanty and roaring in time to the music.

Zabuza elbowed his way to the bar and leaned in to catch the sleeve of the bartender.

"HEY, OLD MAN!" Zabuza had to shout over the noise. The bartender slid a few drink down the countertop and turned to the irritated man. "HAVE YOU SEEN A YOUNG GIRL 'ROUND HERE!?"

The round man cupped a hand over his hear and Zabuza had to almost shriek his question, which would have totally been unbecoming of a ninja of his caliber and standing, and a look of comprehension came over his face. The bartender blushed a bit, yelled something unintelligible over the noise, and then gestured in the direction that all of the men were facing. He then turned back to his customers.

Zabuza faced the sea of human flesh with a grimace. He certainly did _not_ want to press his way through a bunch of moldy old men whose concept of personal hygiene consisted of a little rain and sandscrubbing. He looked around, and spying a rickety, unoccupied, old chair, hopped upon it and craned his head over the masses.

His eyes bugged out and his skin flushed red. His jaw dropped open and all internal brain functions ceased to operate.

There was Haku, drink in hand, red in the face, laughing and dancing on top of a shaky table, and down to the skin tight underclothes she had no doubt purchased in market that day.

He noted distantly that Haku liked penguins, of all things.

And then things just went to Hell in a handbasket from there.

Even though there wasn't such a place. Really.

--

The grizzled ex-ANBU was closely examining Zabuza's zanbato, his beloved Headcleaver.

He tutted softly at the condition of the fearsome weapon, rust pits, deep nicks and all.

"For shame, Zabuza. I thought you had more respect for your weapons than this." He grunted as he flipped it over to pore over the other side. "Damn thing looks as if it's been buried somewhere for the last two years. Didn't you even bother to clean it?"

The rust was pervasive but not reversible. The nicks and scores in the blade could be polished out in time. All in all, Zabuza's Headcleaver was in decent condition, even if the bastard's love for his zabato had waned. Kiten absentmindedly fished for a patch of steel wool in one of the huge drawers beneath his bench.

He had some time to kill until Zabuza brought back that lad of his, so why not begin the restoration process? In any case, once he had cleaned the sword up, he'd be having a word with that Zabuza about taking care of a weapon. A man's weapon was the only thing that kept him alive in the field, after all.

--

Haku awoke the next morning to glaringly bright sunlight pouring through a grimy, round widow and a pounding headache.

"Urgggclh."

The sound that issued from between her lips was not something meant to be produced by the human vocal chords and the spike of pain that the sound of her voice induced in her head was testament to that fact.

She sat up slowly and tried not to lose the contents of her stomach when the small, cramped little room began to sway back and forth. There was this infuriating rushing sound that seemed to swell and recede in time with the rotation of the room.

"Fuck." Eloquence had not often escaped Haku and at this moment in time, she didn't much care. Oh, what in the hell had possessed her to start drinking? She never could handle her alcohol back before…

Haku pressed a fist to her forehead. Everything before the last five minutes was rather fuzzy. She stumbled to her feet and nearly fell flat on her face. The room was swaying badly now and it was all she could do to keep her balance.

Zabuza. Where was Zabuza? He could make her feel better and tell her what had happened last night. Lurching across the room, she reached the door only to have it swing open. Strong hands caught her shoulders and steadied her before she could fall.

"Slow down there. You shouldn't be out of bed. I wouldn't be surprised if you drank half of the alcohol out of the old man's taps."

Her vision was blurry, but when she looked up and squinted slightly, she caught sight of her still unmasked mentor. It was still quite odd to see him without his customary wraps. She put one hand on his arm to steady herself and the other reached up to grind against her temple again. The excruciating pain she had felt when she first awoke was gone. Instead, a dull, steady ache throbbed in the depths of her skull.

"Oh, Zabuza-san. My head feels as it did after one of your old training sessions."

Zabuza smirked slightly. "Well, I never knew that you were one to indulge in one of my favorite vices."

Haku glared menacingly at the older man. Unfortunately, her tousled hair and pitiful look did nothing but to make her seem as if she were pouting. The room pitched rather violently and she was thrown off balance and into Zabuza's chest. Not trusting her senses, she leaned her head against his chest and groaned in suffering.

"Everything's swaying back and forth. I thought things were supposed to _spin_ after you got drunk." The room pitched again and Haku's faced turned a rather pale shade of green.

"Idiot." Zabuza patted his ward's head fondly. "You get dizzy while you're drunk, not when you have a hangover." He was desperately trying to ignore the fact that she was dressed only in the only spare shirt that he had and it was far too big for her, hanging off of her tiny frame. He hadn't dared attempt to dress her after dragging her from that damnable bar. "Jiji helped us secure passage to the mainland. We should be arriving at the continent in day or so."

Haku went absolutely still and then drew back from him. Zabuza didn't know whether or not he should be disappointed or delighted. He settled on a happy medium.

"The only way to the mainland," she uttered slowly, "is by island-hopping on a ferry or taking a merchant ship."

"Yeah…" Zabuza drawled as if speaking to an idiot. "Your point being?"

She swallowed harshly and the pale shade of green became far more distinct. "I was under the impression that we would be island-hopping."

The Kirin in scowled harshly, annoyed. "Why the hell would you think that? Island-hopping would tack on an extra week to our journey. That's too much of a hassle." He leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe. "Besides, Jiji had some contacts in the smuggling business and got us the fastest ship on the trade routes."

"You mean…we're on the open sea?"

Zabuza nodded. "Yep. We should put in to port in a day or so."

Haku's face twisted in horror. "We'll be on this ship for two _**days**_!?"

"Yeah…got a problem with that?"

Haku opened her mouth to speak and promptly projectile vomited the contents of last's nights reveling onto Zabuza.

He reached up to wipe a bit of gods-knows-what from his cheek. "Seasick?" he asked in a conversational tone.

Haku could only groan and nod, swaying in misery.

"Ah."

Someone was going to die for this. In as painful a way as he could imagine.

* * *

**All right, True Believers. Been quite a while since I've updated. I hope to get back into the swing of things. This chapter was mainly out of practice and a way to get my juices going. Let me know how horrible it was, and what I need to improve, no? **

**Concubine's Blessing? Just made it up on the spot. I thought it was a rather ironic name for a disease given by the…..ladies of ill repute at various establishments.**

**Is there something going on between Zabuza and Haku? Or am I merely toying with your fragile psyche?**

**Don't forget those watchful eyes that was mentioned at the end of Ch6. In the next chapter, we'll be exploring their origin. **

**Flashbacks are useful.**


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